


Crescendo Overture

by Senora_Luna



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: 1910s, Alcohol, Bisexuality, Boys Will Be Boys, Coming of Age, Family, Historically Accurate, How the trio became the trio, Mexican Revolution, Mexico, Multi, Music, Prequel, Road Trips, Self-Discovery, Sex, Slice of Life, Small Towns, Some Spanish, Teen Romance, War, Wartime, and then fell apart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-03-30 08:15:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13947474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senora_Luna/pseuds/Senora_Luna
Summary: A Prequel to Coco about the inter tangled lives and youth of Héctor, Imelda, and Ernesto.After having traveled Mexico to hone their skills, young Héctor and Ernesto return to Santa Cecelia searching for the balance between their family's expectations and their dreams. Imelda takes her first steps to defining her own life outside of the expectations of family and society. However she, nor they, ever expected to find such kindred souls with one another as they navigate music, love, and the Mexican Revolution.





	1. Homecoming

            “Ay Fideo, you’re supposed to be the one keeping awake right now,”

            A gangly adolescent let out a yawn, adjusting his gaze to the passing desert outside of the train window. What woke him was the sharp kick against his weather worn boots, from his much more muscular friend seated beside him.

            “ _Ay_ Ernesto it’s a ten hour train ride, Santa Cecilia isn’t going to sneak up on us out of no where,” and with a nudge to the ribs he returned the wake up call.

            “And it wouldn’t be ten hours away if we had gotten off the correct station last week-who’s fault was that-oh I remember it was a certain Hèctor Rivera’s.”

            “Càllate.” Groaned Hèctor sitting up with a stretch. “Who lost our original train tickets in a card game-oh it was a certain Ernesto De La Cruz.”

            “You càllate, I was only in that game because you lost your guitar.”

            “You’re so ungrateful amigo, it was my skills that got us this ride in the first place.”

            “Are you sure you want to brag that you can play a convincing beggar girl to creepy old hombres?”

            _“Oh Señor, por favor, I am alone”_ Began Hector in a falsetto as he leaned upon his friend’s thick shoulder, “ _Señor De La Cruz por favor I need a train ticket to get home to me familia!_ ” It was enough that both boys started snickering.

            “ _Well only because you are the most bonita niña I have ever beheld! You must let me take you to dinner_ ,” replied Ernesto in a mocking elderly voice.

            “ _Oh Señor you make me blush!_ ” Hector added pretending to fan himself with his hand. _“Surely when I return to this town-but now I must catch my train!_ ” And with a mock flail of his long arms Hector sank back into his seat convulsing with laughter. It only took a second later for Ernesto to drop his own performance sniveling with his own laughs.

            “Gracias por Dios for old perverts."Ernesto managed once the pair found breath through their laughter. "You should be an actor not a musico too bad you’re so ugly.” 

            “My talents are wasted on you, as is my beauty, wait until we’re in Santa Cecilia I will be the most guapo thing they ever laid eyes on.” Hector smirked reclining his arms behind his head.

            “Just because you can finally grow some hair doesn’t mean you’ll have chicas at your feet-it takes charisma amigo.” Ernesto added with a tug on the goatee his friend had proudly managed to grow out in the last few months.

            “Ow!” Hector swatted him away. “You’re just afraid to think of my sexual magnetism distracting the women from you.”

            “Oh I’m so afraid, _Inocente_.”

            “Well it’s Santa Cecilia there’s not many women to go around there.” Hector sighed. Truth be told, he had little interest in returning to his home town. Being on the road, learning music, playing music, had been intoxicating. It was thrilling seeing new places, meeting new people, being praised for his talents, instead of mocked for his inability to push a plow or hammer bricks. Santa Cecilia was the opposite, a slow, small place where musicians were...certainly not disliked, but would never be applauded like the successful farmer or physician. 

            “ _Ay_ Hèctor you promised not to complain during the ride.”

            “I’m not complaining I’m stating facts…” He said with a little shrug.

            “It’s going to be fun because we’re real musicians now-we’ve been paid to play, we’ve honed our skills. Trust me-for once. Our familias will be overjoyed to see us.” Ernesto had such a hopeful look in his eye Hèctor couldn’t bare to argue further. Instead he turned his gaze out the window again. He knew what this trip meant for his friend, he was hoping to gain his family’s approval for all their months of working and surviving as musicians.

Yet all he could only imagine about this homecoming was Ernesto would surely be finding a fiancé, much to his disdain. He loved their adventures-he loved seeing the world, meeting people was exciting, bringing joy to others was exciting, who was to say Santa Cecilia would allow the awkward Hèctor Rivera to be the bold musico he found himself to be on the road. For a moment he contemplated expressing his worries to Ernesto-but by the time he looked back over his friend had fallen back asleep. With an impatient groan he sat up forcing himself to remain awake as he soaked in the scenery. For now, he would enjoy every beautiful sight for what he feared may be the last time.

* * *

 

            Santa Cecilia hadn’t changed as Hèctor stated, it stood unwavering and welcoming for the boys to return home. They were the only two getting off at the train station, the only stop or pick up the day for the town. The useful thing about their town was it provided a decent rest point for many travelers coming up from down South on their way to Mexico City. Though most passerby still traveled on horseback or wagon, and those especially wealthy in motor cars. But all that slowed when the fighting began-The Revolution, it was referred to the cities the boys had just been in.

            Despite his complaints on the train, a swelling of emotion rose up in Hèctor’s chest as the pair reached the town plaza. Unlike the chaos of the bustling cities, full of uniformed soldiers keeping everyone on edge, their simple village’s provincial status had allowed it to be shielded from the majority of conflict. The local merchants were all peddling their goods, freshest this, fine made that, highest quality you’ll ever see! Groups of young children sat on the steps to the gazebo, at its center, trading stories, snacks, and most likely skipping out on lessons which would be going on at the school house. Although it lacked the excitement of the city, there was everything a patron could ask for. A photography studio, a wood workers shop, a physician, a cantina, and a decent general store. By the time Hèctor reached his own home, a humble but well kept modern pueblo, nostalgia had warmed any hesitance he’d felt about coming home.

            He didn’t bother to unlatch the wooden gate in front of the garden and instead swung a long leg over, practically stepping over the fence he had become so tall. Ernesto followed in toe, having to descend more cautiously as he lacked his friend’s intense gait.

            “Fideo you’re like a scarecrow.” Ernesto scoffed nearly stepping on a chicken.

            “I’m sure you’ll grow into your trousers someday.”

            “Don’t make me insult you in front of your Màma.” He added with a nudge in Hèctor’s bony side.

            “Màma!” crooned Hèctor as he swept into the house. “Donde eres tu!” It only took a few seconds for around the corner a small, thin woman appeared, her large round brown eyes bulging with delight. Her black hair had a few strands of gray, which extended through the double braids down her back. She wore an apron covered in flour, which spread up her hands and forearms. Despite the weariness in her face, there was a giddy kind of glee that lit in her eyes at the sight of her son.

            “Hèctor mijo!” She threw up her arms up around her son, who was at least a head taller than her, and exclaimed “I received your letter-I thought you were not due back for a week? Oh mijoyou’re even thinner than before!”  

            “Lo Siento Màma,” and his reply contained nothing but warmth and admiration to the woman’s affection. He embraced her tightly, nearly lifting her heels from the back of the floor, as he sensed how much he was missed, and truly allowed all the homesickness to hit him so and be instantly absolved “And we did some clever thinking to get home faster.” When she withdrew from the embrace she planted a kiss on each of the Hèctor’s overtly pronounced cheekbones.

            “Ah I knew I had no reason to worry-so clever-if only you would keep your promises to eat enough while away hijo-Ernesto!” Instantaneously her attention was diverted.

            “Màma Josefina,” Ernesto smiled in a very warm manner (the best mood Hèctor had seen him in for days) embracing her with all the warmth her own son had and kissing each cheek. “I know, I know I kept telling Fideo to eat more but he never listens to me.”

            “Ay him and that guitar, and his scribbling, gracias por mi Dios you were with him mijo or he would have lost his head. Oh look at you-more handsome everyday.” With all of Josefina’s affections’ Ernesto was beaming as though she were his own mother. “Come eat, both of you-I want to hear your stories.”

            “Màma how is the bakery-?”

            “Ah-ah I want to hear about you first.”

            “Si Fideo let her feed us first.” Ernesto added with a playful jostle of Hèctor’s shoulder as he swept by following Josefina into the kitchen and beginning to relay the story of their first concert. Hèctor remained in the corridor, shaking his head with a small smile, and inwardly chastising himself for putting up such a fuss to come home. Conscientious of his most precious position, the guitar on his back, he swung around the corner to his own (small but at least private!) bedroom. Once within, he tossed his bag down haphazardly and carefully placed the guitar case underneath his bed, where it was protected from any potential earthquake or robbery. Then, with the same reverence, he turned to the opposite side of his room to a small wooden desk (where he did the majority of drawings and writings), lifting a small faded turquoise belt buckle.

            “Hola Pàpa,” long fingers tracing the design, Hèctor went on in a gentle tone “the trip was incredible…I’ll make sure to tell you tonight.” And with the same caution he had taken storing his guitar, Hèctor returned the buckle to its anointed place on the desk, seated within a saucer, two nearly depleted wax candles on either side.

            “Fideo! I’m calling you so your angel Màma does not have to! Vamos!” came Ernesto’s voice which caused Hector to roll his eyes, but then chuckle.

            “Sí, coming!” Hector ran around the corner, landing with the inertia half sprawled across the small wooden table, nearly startling the elotitos out of Josefina and Ernesto’s hands. With a mischievous smirk he propped his chin in his hands. “Estoy Aqui!”

            “Ay! Hèctor!” Ernesto almost choked on his bread, “I told you not to do that!”. Josefina stood with a warm laugh.

            “Oh mi hijo, so much energy,” She ruffled Hèctor’s hair as she walked to fetch him one of the freshly baked elotitos.

            “Sí that was a lot of the problema,” Ernesto tsked, “Every night we are up late, every night I can’t get him to leave the cantina because ‘oh Ernesto one more song’, ‘oh Ernesto I want to listen to this mariachi por favor’, ‘look at the statue, look at that taqueria stand’, ay ay too much energy.”

            “No you were just sleepy from too much tequila.” Hèctor chortled and swung a leg around grabbing a stool with his foot to sit upon.

            “Ay don’t tease each other.” Josefina chided placing a plate in front of her own son. “Tell me then niños, how were the cities, the violence-was it bad?” Neither were surprised by her frankness, seeming to have both recognized it would be coming as the pair subtly exchanged looks. 

            “Oh we were surrounded by the music Màma. No injuries on either of us, mira mira,” Hector rolled up his sleeves, and gestured Ernesto to do the same. “See, nothing happened-the worst was some mosquito bites.” Hèctor gave her the most reassuring crooked smile, and patted his Mother’s hand. However her round brown eyes remained pinched at the corners with a grief, a true worry which instantly made Hèctor’s stomach bubble with anxiety and his own grief. Before he could muster a comforting phrase, her eyes jumped wide as though he had just revealed the city was so violent they had dodged bullets in their sleep.

            “Hèctor Jacinto Rivera Garcia, what happened to your tooth?!” Josefina’s tone was a mixture of shock and building chastisement. Ernesto kicked Hèctor under the table that he had so quickly forgotten their rehearsed plan of ‘no stupid grins’ because it would be much better to show off the new golden tooth once his Mother was more relaxed they were home. Hèctor snapped his mouth shut and reclined back.

            “Which tooth,” He asked stuffing his mouth with bread to try and cover the glint.

            “The tooth that is now replaced with a gold one!”

            “Màma it must be a trick of the li-.” Before he could finish she stuck a finger in his gum pulling it aside.

            “Dios mio what did you do-how did you afford it-are there more!?”

            “Mawh-maWH,” Hèctor yanked himself free. “You are overreacting-it was minor-it was nada, it is just a little bit of gold-very cheap-not even the whole tooth!”

            “What happened!”

            “I…just tripped, you know me.” Hèctor said with a smile and shrug, and even Ernesto rolled his eyes at how pitiful the lie was.

            “Do not lie to me, you have been dancing since you could walk I have never seen you trip!”

            “There may have been a very poco, piquito, argument-.”

            “You were in a fight!”

            “Màma it was a misunderstanding-.”

            “And you Ernesto-did you get hurt too?!”

            “Ah Màma Josefina I’m fine-really-“

            “Abre la boca!” Josefina waved at Ernesto’s mouth, and he opened like a dutiful son so she could see he thankfully had not lost any teeth. “At least you kept in tack, but should I expect a missing hand, a long scar on your chest?”

            “No no Màma Josefina I’m unscathed it was minor-really!” Ernesto said taking the woman’s hand in an attempt to calm her before she forced Hèctor to strip so she could search for further injuries. “All that happened was a drunk hombre was too excited after our performance and smacked our pobrecito fideo Hèctor on the back-and he hit his mouth on the bar. It was only the bottom of the tooth which came off-but you know us muscios, we need our teeth to sing-so we replaced it…but it is minor really.”

            Hèctor managed to nod along vigorously backing up Ernesto’s version of the truth-it wasn’t a complete lie-it simply omitted some details. Like how they just so happened to get the coin to do it by casually snagging a few pesos from register while Ernesto flirted with the cashier. Or how the surgeon who'd done it had been barely older than them and done it so cheaply because it he wanted to practice with his Father's tools. It came as a great relief Ernesto could calm his Màma far better than he ever could. And it did seem to relieve some of Josefina’s nerves as she let out a great sigh then reached across the table to pat Hèctor’s hand.

            “I expect you both to be more cautious in the future, but boys will boys won’t you?" She let out a sigh rubbing her forehead-then returned a smile to her face once more. "Do not worry your Màma. I expect a letter if something like this ever happens again or I will not allow you on the road” She added more sternly.

            “Si si Lo Siento Màma.” Hèctor added quickly, offering her an apologetic smile.

            “It would be a crime to keep our music away from the world. There was an hombre who told us our music brought such joy to his cantina-it was the first time everyone was smiling in the last ten years.” Ernesto jumped in, his smile broad and charming. “Even joining us in singing.”

            “Oh ninos, that is bien…” Josefina gave them an approving nod, but it was obvious to Hèctor she was offering them a face of insincere courage. He hesitated, he almost began to elaborate-then reclined nodding patiently. Ernesto suddenly shot up shaking Hèctor’s shoulder.

            “That reminds me-you were going to waiter for Juan tonight aren’t you?” Ernesto said suddenly.

            “Working already Hèctor-hijo you just got home! Aren’t you tired?” Josefina objected. The conviction was lacking, and he could guess it gave her some relief to see him in a more stable situation where if he lost a tooth she would instantly have some town busybody knocking on her door.

            “Ah Màma, I have plenty of energy.” Hèctor leaped to his feet, and bent over to kiss each of her cheeks. “I won’t work late.”

            “Well it will be good for you to see some friends again-the entire town was asking me when you two would be back.” Josefina relented.

            “Sí so you can get some rest Màma, I’ll work tonight-no more baking.” Hèctor added gesturing to the oven.

            “Sí Màma Josefina you should go rest your tired feet-open the window, listen to the mariachi plaza, or the church bells.” Ernesto chimed in putting a hand on the small woman’s shoulder as he also kissed her on both cheeks.

            “Or read a book!” Hèctor added.

            “Or do some knitting.”

            “Or-.” Hèctor began but was cut off by a wave of his Mother’s hand.

“Sí-sí ninos! I understand, I know how to care for myself. Lock the door when you get home Hèctor-and I expect to hear more about your travels tomorrow! Remember there is church in the morning!”

“Sí Mama-of course!” The boys were already backing out of the kitchen.

“Do not come home with another gold tooth!”

“Sí lo prometo!” Hèctor said with an over stressed nod, trying to avoid another overprotective lecture about getting punched by strangers.

“Adios te quiero!” Ernesto waved, and then grabbed Hector by the wrist before he could worry Josefina any further.

 

* * *

 

As soon as they'd climbed the gate, far from Josefina's earshot, walking down the dirt street Ernesto nudged Hèctor’s ribs.

“Why is it so hard for you not to smile?”

“She was going to find out eventually.”

“Luckily I was there to save your sorry culo.”

“Oh sí, my hero Senor De La Cruz, let me kiss you as a reward.” Hèctor threw a long arm around Ernesto’s neck and yanked him close puckering his lips.

“I’m not in the mood to kiss a horse!” Ernesto half laughed and grimaced trying to slip free from his taller friend.

“But doesn’t my hero want a reward!”

“Sí escape from your breath!” Ernesto slipped free as catching his breath as the two laughed to themselves. “Keep laughing, as soon as I’m tall as you Fideo I’m going to return the favor every day.”

“Oh I’m terrified Ernesto.” Hèctor chuckled and stretched his arms behind his head. “So off to Casa De La Cruz?” the words barely left his mouth before Ernesto’s enitre persona shifted to one more absent and stiff.

“Sí…”

“Amigo…you were excited on the train,” Hèctor reminded giving a gentle nudge to his shoulder.

“Why don’t we go to the cantina first? We should tell Juan we’re back-.”

“Ernesto-what about your luggage?…”

“It’s on the way Hèctor, and besides we’ve been waiting months to see his face now that we won. My Màma and Pàpa aren’t even expecting me today” Ernesto was brightening up once again, his charming smile returning. Even the prospect of announcing their status as official musicians was too tempting for Hèctor, and he relented to the plan

“We have-come on let’s go.”

* * *

 

            The pair didn’t bother to race or even argue, they were so excited to return to the absolute pinnacle of Santa Cecilia culture. Instead they did take Josefina’s advice waving to everyone they passed, looking around for the boys they’d attended classes with, and the girls they sang in church choir with. The sun was setting by the time they reached the cantina, and the faint sound of mariachi within could heard from the outside. Ernesto paused to admire some of the horses tethered at the drinking troth.

            “This is the kind I’ll have someday,”

            “That’s a Dull?”

            “ _Dale_.” Ernesto rolled his eyes.

            “You know I was thinking, maybe my tooth can improve our act, makes it look like we rough people up from time to time.”

            “Fideo if you actually got in a fight someone would snap you in half like a stick.”

            “The hombre got one lucky punch Ernesto.”

            “Let’s stick to that story.” Ernesto patted the horse’s side farewell, then did the same to Hèctor’s shoulder.

            “That’s essentially what happened!” Hèctor protested following along as they pulled open the wooden door to the cantina, immediately enveloped in the smells of smoke, alcohol, and delicious food. Many travelers through town were seated enjoying dinner with a drink, while a very nervous mariachi attempted to play his trumpet on the small wooden stage. The back wall of the cantina lead to an outdoor area, which Juan would open if the place became especially crowded or a fiesta was being hosted.

            “Pobrecito…” Ernesto muttered in a sarcastic chuckle at the trumpeter who kept missing notes, and looked as though he had been out in the rain he was sweating so heavily.

            “Some things never change, like Juan putting his least profitable performers on first.” Hèctor whispered back, with a touch more pity for the man because that had been the two of them once.

            “Well it won’t be us anymore.” Ernesto smirked.

            “Sí,” Hector returned the look. “Let’s find him.” The pair shimmied through the growing crowd to the bar counter each taking a seat. A chubby man was listening to the trumpeter, seeming to cringe with every foul note the man blew. He barely noticed the boys, taking the slow hours of the bar as his time of leisure rather than worry about the half-asleep elderly male patrons. Hèctor gave Ernesto a mischievous look, then put a finger over his lips urging his friend to be quiet as he skillfully slid to sit upon the bar counter. Ernesto covered his mouth not to laugh, as Hèctor slunk as closely as he could to the bartender without alerting of him as his presence then suddenly let out an ear piercing shriek of a grito.

            The large man startled so hard he threw the glass he was cleaning in the air and barely caught it-eyes bulging and face contorting with alarm as he wondered if some sort of rooster or gun slinger had managed its way into the humble cantina. Even the trumpeter appeared to have heard for he played a sudden shriek of a highs note which seemed to finally garner him some laughter from the men half-watching. The bar tender turned about ready to smack the drunken idiot then spotted the boys (who had this time were doubled over in laughter) and rolled his eyes in exasperation.

            “So you’re back you little mierdas. Ay,ay, and sitting on my clean counter!”

            “We just missed you so much Guillermo,” Hèctor swooned putting a hand over his heart.

“Si, we wept everyday at the loss of your guapo face.” Came a mock cry from Ernesto. The man scoffed then relented to a mild smirk, ruffling Hèctor’s hair and smacking Ernesto’s cheek.

“Estupido, both of you. At least you didn’t come back full of holes-nice tooth Fideo.” Guillermo added as he waved Hector off the counter, and the lanky boy slithered down to a bar stool spinning it back and forth.

“Gracias! It makes me look dashing doesn’t it?”

“It makes you look like a poor miner who couldn’t afford ivory.” Guillermo said flatly, as Ernesto doubled over with laughter to Hèctor’s scowl.

“I told you!” shouted Ernesto triumphantly shaking Hèctor by the shoulder.

“Càllate,” grumbled Hector then turned back to Guillermo. “We were just wondering if you could be oh so kind to tell us where Juan is.”

“The roster is full the next week estupidos.” Guillermo said flatly finally turning to the two as he wiped down the area Hector had been sitting on. He cringed at another foul note from the trumpet player. “Unfortunately.”

“We won the bet.” Ernesto declared pointedly.

“Congratulations, the roster is still full.” Then throwing the dish rag at the boys added “However you could get your culos behind the counter and start helping.”

“Guillermo we know you must have wilted away without us,” Hèctor began in his most charming tone, “But it’s not fair of Juan to make us wait.”

“More like finally had satisfied customers who weren’t bothered by two singing estupidios…”

“Do you really want to listen to _that_ for a week?” Ernesto added as the trumpet player finally finished his mediocre set to some minimal and forced applause as he nervously thanked the crowd and left the stage.

“Do you two really want to play the dead hours instead of make real denaro behind the counter?” Guillermo added. The pair exchanged a look-it was true especially after their travels they were exhausted for spending money. Ernesto took Hèctor’s shoulder pulling him to his own for huddled conference.

“We swore we were not going to degrade ourselves playing these stupid slots.”

“Sí but…” Hector was already anxious to play again, to prove to the town how much they had learned in their time away.

“Hèctor what does it matter if no one hears us?” Ernesto raised one of his well groomed eyebrows, far more tamed than his best friend’s unpicked ones. It was persuasive enough that Hèctor sighed loudly slumping his head against Ernesto’s shoulder in a dramatic display and half sank off his stool. “Sí where are our aprons Guillermo?”

“Washed for once.” Came an icy comment from Guillermo. “Go wash your hands and put them on-back room.” Ernesto took Hèctor’s limp arm and dragged him to his feet forcing him to reanimate, as they trudged off to the storage closet behind the bar.

“I told you we should have written ahead.” Complained Hèctor as the pair entered a dimly lit storage room, bottles of alcohol lining the walls, a box of linen aprons folded in the corner as they began to search for the appropriate lengths.

“So Juan could purposefully sabotage us?”

“Not everyone is out to ruin our careers Ernesto.” Hèctor scoffed.

“We’re in Santa Cecilia again Fideo.” And paused to look him in the eye as the two exchanged serious looks. Both became silent looking at their aprons with some disdain as Ernesto set down his traveling bag in the corner.

“That’s why we have one another’s backs.” Hèctor said managing out a small smile putting his hands on Ernesto’s shoulders. Ernesto returned the smile and then leaned toward Hèctor until their foreheads almost met. They looked at one another debating something, then both chuckled drawing apart with rosy faces. Snatching a half open tequila from the shelf Ernesto grabbed two moderately clean looking shot glasses filling each one.

“Salud mi amigo.” Ernesto said warmly, offering the other glass to Hèctor with a smile. 

“Guillermo will kill us-"Hèctor gave a coy chuckle,"a la mierda salud!” They clinked glasses downing their shots as they each made a face from the burn.

“You’re still wincing!” Ernesto laughed.

“So did you-Guillermo’s is way stronger than we remember!” And Hèctor joined in on the laughter quickly returning the bottle while Ernesto wiped off their glasses.

“A la mierda, we’ll hope it puts more hair on our chest,”

“Vamos before he comes looking.”

As soon as the two left the back room each slowed in their steps as if they had been transported back to their time on the road. Hèctor paused putting a hand on Ernesto’s arm as if he needed confirmation of what was happening-because they were suddenly hearing such a wonderful voice they must have been in a famous club in Mexico City, not the dead hour in Santa Cecilia’s only cantina. And not just a _good_ mariachi, surely they could believe some good singers were passing through town, no the shocking rare thing was it was a _female_ voice.

“Who is _that_ …” gasped Hèctor, he quickly urged Ernesto to follow as he nearly ran to get a view of the stage where a girl sat upon a stool singing with her eyes closed into the cheap microphone. She was a stunning alto, with a clear direct pitch that did not waver, and somehow added such a gravitas to the popular song “La Adelita” of a love lorn revolution mujera. Down her back hung a long nearly deep dark brown braid, her dress a simple linen piece which rested beneath her exposed shoulders, and a traditional colorful skirt.

“She looks familiar,” Ernesto puzzled examining the girl like many of the other patrons were now. The older men had woken up from their drunken stupors to ogle the female presence on stage-especially such a young one. Their concern much more on the sight than the sound.

The voice was so captivating to Hèctor he walked closer closing his eyes, just like he had when they heard incredible musicians on the road. It created most wonderful images in his mind that inspired lyrics, poems, and drawings in the evening. This girl’s voice had such a conviction, it turned the love ballad into one of confidence-the woman defying expectation to follow her Captain through the battle, unafraid, unflinching, each word like a punch that demanded the listener’s full attention. Red and triumph filled his mind, images of the female warrior on horseback fearlessly charging into a battle, his imagination was absolutely captivated. Until she stopped singing abruptly forcing Hèctor to open his eyes and look around in confusion.

One of the drunken patrons had tried to climb on stage to get the girl’s attention as his friends cheered him on. The girl’s dark brown eyes were open now, and glaring with such a disgust and fury it seemed impossible moments ago she was just singing so contentedly and gracefully. There was a vulgar chorus which called after her as she jumped off the stool bringing her performance to a sudden end. As she walked over to the wing one of the men snatched the hem of her skirt-and before anyone could bother to help her she strongly _stomped_ on his hand not caring if it dirtied her skirt. The hombre jumped back shouting some further vulgarities as his drunken friends laughed.

“Puta!” He shouted spitting in the girl’s direction, but the performer did not even turn her back. Hèctor finally found his legs and with the urgency of catching a train he rushed to the “Staff Only” door, which lead to the kitchen full of food and cooks who all attempted to greet him as he ran past.

“Hola Hèctor!”

“Hey Fideo is back!”

“What’s your rush niño!”

Hèctor spun on his heel half running backward as he waved to the others.

“L-lo siento! I’ll be right back!” And he nearly fell out the wooden double doors which lead to the back ally. Catching his breath he whipped his head both directions, and in the distance he could see the figure and colorful skirt of the performer, her head now covered with a veil. “Wait!” he shouted making her stop, then sprinted forward. “Wait I-,” And Hèctor had just about reached her when suddenly a fist landed against his chin, nearly knocking him backward from a clearly upward angled hit.

"Don't touch me!" 

“Oh-you’re-stronger…than you look.” He winced clutching his jaw and the girl let out a gasp seemingly startled her punch was so effective.

“Hèctor…Rivera?” And she spoke more slowly-less frantically, looking at him awkwardly even as she took a step away.

“Oh-sí…I saw you sing-.”

“I am not that kind of mariachi.” He was cut off as she began sternly, any surprise at his identity gone, her hands in fists. “I am _not_ a loose woman you can meet in a back ally for a trick!” Before Hèctor could protest she advanced her voice growing louder- and did he see tears nearly coming to her eyes-or was it just the moonlight? “So you can turn right around-tell all of your mariachi amigos to leave me _alone!_ I sing that is all!” Hèctor stared at her wide eyed, the fury in her face would have surely cut him if she were a bruja with the power.

The girl took a breath gathering her composure then turned away as Hèctor stood stunned rubbing his jaw-daring not to frighten or upset her more by following. Keeping an eye that she left the alley without anyone else following, he lingered until she was gone. Once the shock wore off he made his way back inside to the bar where he lifted a chunk of ice to the swelling spot on his chin.

“Where did you go?” Ernesto’s voice brought him back to reality as he jumped turning back to his friend who did a double take at the large bruise forming. With a sigh he added “What did you _do?”_

“Well I was going to ask that girl where she learned to vibrato like that but she punched me instead.” Hèctor said with a shrug. “I think I scared her since I ran up in the ally…” Ernesto doubled over with laughter putting a hand on Hèctor’s stomach for balance.

“Who wouldn’t be scared of your face in the dark Fideo!”

“Cà-ll-a-te Ernesto.” snapped Hèctor.

“Lo siento, lo siento-I don’t think this one was your fault, don’t you remember her?”

“Que paso?”

“Imelda. She sang with us in choir. She used to step on anyone’s toes if they got too close to her on the riser. I’m not surprised she’s moved on to beating up poor innocent niños in dark alleys.” Ernesto chuckled again, but Hèctor rubbed his jaw contemplating a moment as he recalled the girl who was bold enough to sing the solo in their chorus, and bold enough to sit with the boys on the gazebo in the plaza because she wanted to sing too. It had been years since he’d seen her.

“Ah maso menos,” Hèctor shrugged. “I forgot girls in Santa Cecilia are more skittish than city women…” However all he could think was how desperately he wanted to hear her sing again, how much he wanted to ask her where she found such power in her voice, a very stupid part of him wanted to run down to her house and inquire for her personally. But the pain in his jaw reminded him what a stupid idea that was. And beyond all that anger she had shown, he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of guilt he had frightened her.

“Ay ay what is this!” Guillermo returned with a tray of dishes to see Hèctor’s swollen jaw. “Did that niña take a swing at you? She’s already hit two patrons, I’m-.”

“No!” Hèctor said suddenly straightening up. “No no, I ran after her and tripped on my shoelaces. She was long gone. You think I’d let a girl get a swing at me? Come on Guillermo.” Guillermo let out a groan rolling his eyes at the boy.

“Day one and you already hurt yourself. Pull it together Fideo.” He snapped. “Wash these glasses.” Then turned to the back room. Ernesto gave Hèctor a serious side eye as he dumped the glasses into the sink.

“You’re being too nice again.”

“I _scared_ her.” Hèctor protested.

“Or she’s a puta…” Ernesto shrugged.

“ _Language_ ,” Hèctor wailed in a mocking female voice and flicked soapy water toward his face. It only took a few seconds for them to nearly get half the water on each other, and then in a hurry wash the dishes before Guillermo found their mess. The rest of the evening went on without further violence, and each mariachi getting more talented than the last as the cantina became more busy.

* * *

 

By the time the pair finished working, and due to their long train ride, they were too tired to even consider seeking out Juan about their bet. And in a force of habit, rather than wake his parents Ernesto returned with Hèctor to his home where they could fall asleep without interruption. Yet by the time Ernesto was snoring Hèctor found himself still rubbing his jaw, hearing Imelda’s voice in his head, and remembering the fury fixed with fear in her face. The guilt pooled in his stomach and he turned on his side, making a commitment to himself he would apologize, and only then was able to fall asleep.


	2. An apology

Originally, (and because they had promised Josefina) Héctor and Ernesto had made a deliberate effort on the road to attend church every Sunday morning. But then…the life of musicians took over, and with most opportunities to play, or see concerts, being Saturday evenings, well church attendance had become a _needed_ sacrifice for their careers. So when Josefina jostled the pair awake she may as well have been seeking to wake to the dead. And then of course there was her great horror at the bruise on Héctor’s overly jaw. Once she was calmed down they swore to be ready for mass within five minutes. There was a great deal of moaning and groaning the minute she left them to dress-but neither could bare to horrify her further by revealing their lack of commitment to God.

So here they were, leaning on one another in a pew that was much harder than they recalled, struggling to stay awake through a Latin mass. Ernesto had been quite worried they would run into his parents on the walk over, however their only fear now was staying awake. The only thing which kept Héctor from nodding off on Ernesto’s shoulder was the sight of church choir preparing to sing-and suddenly recognizing Imelda.

She was in her Sunday best, hair now pinned up, and unlike last evening sang along very conformed and almost tediously with the choir. Maybe the tequila had gone to his head faster than he realized and made her performance seem inspired when it was only mediocre. When the chorus finished their rendition of “Agnus Dei” the choir scattered to take their seats.

Imelda must have noticed his staring and met him with the most deadly look as she walked to her family in a pew ahead of his own. Héctor was surprised to see her knuckles appeared to be as bruised as his jaw-another pang of guilt in his stomach. Immediately he wondered if in his exhaustion he was staring in a far more lecherous way than intended. Damn it, another thing to apologize for.

The sermon went on until it was time to receive the sacred host and the pews began to empty out. Héctor finally saw his opportunity as he suddenly left Ernesto and his Màma, jumping over a few pews in front (as silently as possible) to get close to Imelda in line-earning more than a few glares from other families. Thankfully she didn’t notice his approach because she was ushering her younger brothers into the line in front of her. Hoping not to surprise her this time, Héctor spoke softly as soon as he was within earshot of her.

“Buenos Dias,” but it still seemingly startled her as she did a double take, noticed Héctor, and then purposefully looked back to give him the most deadly look. Following protocol, she said nothing and turned forward keeping in the line for the holy service. “I am not here to bother you, I wanted to apologize.” He waited a moment half expecting her to stomp on his foot or smack him again-instead her cold shoulder continued. “I realized a man running and yelling at you in the dark is probably a frightening image…especially after some men jump tried to grab you…and uh shouted at you…” He was feeling stupider by the moment, “and I should have considered that before I…did that.” He continued to whisper and waited for any sign she was listening. The older woman behind him made shushing noise but Héctor continued.

“I was not trying to insult your honor talking to you in an ally, I would have talked to you inside but your performance was cut short-ah-well you know that,” still no response except her shoulders tensing up. “I was only going to ask how you learned to do such a vibrato since I was really impressed…”

“Niño you are not supposed to be talking it is an insult to our Lord.” The woman behind Héctor began again, and Héctor resisted the urge to shush her back.

“Anyway…I should have waited…sometimes I get over excited and do ridiculous things…so I am sorry. I am also sorry your performance was cut short. You really made the song come to life. I’ll uh stop bothering you.”

“Because of you I’ll never get to sing again so what does it matter.” Suddenly she responded, and the shock almost made Héctor jump. Her tone was so ice cold he was sure he felt the temperature drop.

“Que-why?”

“I was already warned to let men be obnoxious and not defend myself.” Imelda spat bitterly sarcasm dripping. Héctor couldn’t help but wonder if she was twisting whatever words had been given to her but he could piece together the sentiment. Knowing the kind of “class” Juan stressed having in his cantina, it made sense he wouldn’t allow a performer to be bothering customers. “And I wasted my last act of defense on you.” Héctor stood silently a moment; fiddling with the suspenders on his trousers as he pieced together her meaning.

“You think I told-oh-no no I just told everyone I tripped.” There was silence again, Héctor waited on a response but heard her sigh with a relief like she had been holding her breath. She was almost exhausting him at his point the amount of stress a simple apology was causing him.

On the contrary, with her back to him, Imelda smiled, relief washing through her that her chance to sing wasn’t gone. It seemed Héctor Rivera had not changed much from the goofy trouble maker that’s only redemption was he didn’t bother to tease the girls like the other boys. Then she hesitated, wondering if his act of apparent kindness was a ploy to leave her in his debt. Imelda nervously wrung her hands, until he suddenly spoke again making her jump.

“And I did not mean to stare in a way which made you uncomfortable, just now-I saw your hand was bruised, I’m pretty bony everyone usually calls me Fideo-anyway-I had just spent all night feeling guilty you see, and was running through my head how I would find a way to apologize so when I saw you were-.”

“Shush!” The woman again reminded Héctor-this time with a light knock of her hand to his head. Thankfully the old woman couldn’t hit that hard-but it was enough Héctor rubbed the back of his head and went silent with an unseen rolling of his eyes.

By now Imelda was more curious than annoyed, and wanted to look back at Héctor to see if it was possible to detect any sincerity in his words. Héctor Rivera had run off to the cities with Ernesto De La Cruz. She didn’t even know how long they had been back for.  Such an ambitious and worldly boy claiming to be affected by someone he hadn’t spoken to in more than just passing got years seemed like a farce to win her over. But than again…Héctor Rivera. Everyone knew it was just he and his Màma, which often had lead to much teasing in their childhood days. Many boys often considered him less of a man to take orders only from his Màma. Yet Héctor always laughed it off-it was seemingly impossible to gain more than a scowl or eye roll out of him. With Ernesto’s stocky frame to back him up, why would he bother trying to throw a punch?

When it was her turn to accept the host, she took the opportunity while turning back to her seat to catch a glance at Héctor. It was difficult at this angle, he had become so tall, but she was able to quickly catch a nervous smile upon his face. That and it was surprising to see despite the large bruise she’d left on his chin-he was apologizing to _her._ True she had every right to defend herself-but if he was so sincere-if he really had meant no harm-…a tiny flash of guilt filled her. Maybe he was being sincere? Whether she wanted to ask or not the opportunity was gone now because the priest giving Héctor a stern look for having talked in line. The moment Imelda resumed her seat, kneeling down, her twin brothers were instantly on her case.

“It’s offensive to talk in line like that Imelda.” Felipe whispered, giving his sister a chastising look.

“That wasn’t very demure Imelda,” came more mischievous and amused tone from his twin Oscar.

“You’re _both_ talking right now.” Imelda half hissed, half whispered, going red.

“Niños.” It only took one word from Imelda’s mother, Gloriana, for all three children to fall silent. They didn’t dare incur her wrath or worse have their father (who currently knelt in prayer) alerted. Imelda watched from the corner of her eye as Héctor finally received his wafer and wine, then slinked his way toward the back of the church where she could recognize Ernesto De La Cruz and Señora Rivera. De La Cruz gave Héctor a look, and she could imagine they were arguing about his seat hopping silently as possible. With the seeming patience of a saint Señora Rivera did not seem disturbed, however when she noticed Imelda watching, she smiled wider. Imelda looked away frantically, her face going red for the bad habit, along with hoping the boys hadn’t noticed her gaze and gotten the wrong idea.

As soon as the mass came to a close, the joy truly filled Imelda that she had not lost her opportunity to sing at the cantina. An uncharacteristic smile was spreading over her cheeks as her family began the walk home.

“You look happy hija,” A hand fell upon her shoulder, and Imelda lifted her gaze to that of her Padre’s. His face lightly lined, but the creases were especially deep in his forehead. Beneath his eyes were darkened circled which always reminded her of his watchful diligence and work. But all of those were overshadowed by how kind his mouth would be in a smile underneath his signature bushy moustache. “Did you enjoy the sermon? Are you becoming a dedicated Catholic like your Màma wishes?” he added in a lower whisper a few steps ahead of Gloriana and the twins. Imelda let out a small laugh leaning against her Padre’s side.

“I doubt I will ever be to the degree Màma so wishes.” The wind blew through marking a temperate Sunday, the town full of peaceful sounds as the church bells sounded. “I…I found myself just giving prayers of thanks I have been getting to sing so often.”

“It is good to count your blessings, but remember to thank your ancestors for them as well.”

“I do-I do,” Imelda said quickly, not wanting him to think her loyalty laid elsewhere than in the faith of Ofrendas and the family which he so tenderly taught his children alongside their church lessons.

“Good.” He gave a light squeeze to her shoulder, then his hand dropped to delicately lift her wrist. “Are you planning to explain this? Your Màma is concerned.” It was true as Héctor had seen, her knuckles were a darkish purple with bruising. A nervousness overcame Imelda as she didn’t wish to make her Pàpa worry-nor did she want to admit perhaps Héctor Rivera _didn’t_ deserve the entirety of the punch she gave him.

“Pàpa it is only a little bruise, Màma is being too cautious…”

“Then what was the little cause?”

“I…hit a boy I thought was following me with illicit intentions...” Imelda paused, if she didn’t feel this unwanted pity for Héctor she wouldn’t have even felt the need to hesitate in her explanation. It made her brow furrow with aggravation that he was forcing her to rethink her behavior when he was the one who had come running after her like a mad man.

“Thought?” The question pressed his daughter so easily to further annoyance. Imelda stammered then let out a sigh relenting to share the rest of the story.

“He found me in line for the host and apologized. He said he only wanted to talk to me about singing-but if that was true why chase me done a dark alleyway! It is stupid!”

“It is stupid to chase Señoritas in the dark. But that is good hearted to apologize, did you offer your forgiveness?” Now Imelda looked away, watching the impression her boots made for every step they took on the dirt path. “Everyone makes mistakes Imelda. We do not keep criminals in jail when they are found innocent do we?”

“No…” Imelda sighed knowing his logic was too well formulated to protest. Still, she was only finding herself able to submit since Héctor had taken the pains to make a formal apology to her. “I will…apologize to him.”

“What a good heart you have hija,” There was enough condescension in his tone that she made a small scowl, however the soft squeeze on her shoulder which signaled his approval brought enough joy to her heart, to prevent distain.

“Pedro,” Gloriana’s voice interrupted the moment as they reached the front gate of their sensible hacienda. Oscar and Felipe ran inside, immediately toward the stables to tend to the animals (their favorite chore). “Did Imelda say why she was talking to a boy during the line for the host?” Gloriana had jet black hair, with pins of the Spanish style, keeping it tight in its braided bun. Despite her Padre being the one to carry a pistol on his belt, it was her Madre that Imelda felt was the more intimidating of the two. With a single look of her hazel eyes one instantly questioned their actions and if they were an affront to Higher Powers. And now her simple question, in calm unassuming tone had caused Imelda’s heart to leap up to her throat momentarily.

“A young man was offering his apologies for being rude last evening.” In contrast, Pedro’s relaxed and casual tone made one think he was their truest friend from birth. Somehow both contained an elegance she aspired to, but Imelda always preferred to have her Padre present if she was going to be chastised.

“Ay,…I am concerned about you being alone in _Juan’s_ Imelda, I still think your brothers should go with you.” The tone of her Madre overwrote any nature of suggestion in the words. Imelda quickly frowned at the loss of her independence which had been such war to gain.

“Madre,” Imelda began in a desperate plea, breaking away from her Padre, “It was a misunderstanding, he found my singing beautiful and I thought he was seeking me to mock me. There is no need for the boys to come with me.”

“Si Gloriana,” Pedro intervened to Imelda’s relief taking his wife’s hand in a careful act that somehow tamed her condemning eyes. “Imelda is even going to apologize to the boy it was such a misunderstanding. She will go by their family’s home, and see there is no bad blood between our families.” Oh. Suddenly Imelda wished he had not spoken up at all, and felt her fingers and toes curl up tightly with frustration she could not express. How humiliating after all she had been trying to do was defend herself. Gloriana’s expression was unreadable for a moment, but she then gave a sigh, relenting as always-then her gaze was directed to her daughter.

“You should make your trip to market now then since you will be making an extra stop, I expect you on time for supper.”

* * *

 

“Padre Edmundo must really adore you now.” Ernesto chuckled as Héctor finished explaining why he had disappeared in the service and nearly received a beating with a ruler from an offended nun. Héctor groaned loudly, rubbing his palms across his face, then dragging them downward that he stretched the skin from his eyes in a moment of drama.

“I was trying to be a gentleman.”

“Or you could have waited until after the mass like a rational person.”

“Tch, and confront her next to Sheriff Lopéz?” Héctor gave Ernesto a light shove as they strolled up the cobblestone pathway leading to Casa De La Cruz. “That’s exactly what I want; to go home with a bullet wound so Màma can die of fright.”

 “Honestly. Fideo, _she_ hit _you_ I don’t think you needed to apologize.”

“Ay well there’s the difference I’m a gentleman and you are not.”

“A gentleman si? How does that song go around you wrote in Veracruz? Ah ‘ _Well everyone knows Juanitaa_ …’ ”

“Ernesto!” Héctor quickly threw his arm around his head trying to cover his mouth. “I was drunk!”

“You still wrote it,” He snickered fixing his collar as he dusted Héctor away. “And it is a beautiful love song I’m sure your Màma would like to hear it-,”

“You sing one note in front of her and I’ll make sure to tell your parents about every novia you met.”

“We swore to secrecy on that.” Ernesto huffed.

“No we swore to secrecy on the visit to the casa de puta.” Héctor smirked. “There was no pact about the various hands you promised to wed.”

“I did not promise to wed anyone!” Now finally the more suave of the two was blushing.

“Didn’t you say some special line which loosened up their dress strings? ‘Oh if only I could meet your Pàpa, I would ask for your hand tonight, alas I leave in the morning’…”

“It was poetry!”

“ _Oh Señor De La Cruz, thank goodness you are back, I have been waiting months to marry you.”_ Héctor once again put on his mocking falsetto as he draped a long arm over Ernesto’s shoulder while they walked up his family home.

“Càllate Héctor…the last thing I need is my family hearing your theatrics.” Ernesto muttered through his teeth. Though there was the smallest twinge at the corners of his lips from how hard he was resisting a laugh at the performance.

“ _I have remained pure for you Señor De La Cruz, my heaving bosom rushes just for you! My lips ache for your kiss! My thighs_ -!” Ernesto interrupted the recreation of his jilted lovers by dragging Héctor behind the chicken coop and shushing him quickly. A moment later Jimena, the elderly Abuleita of the De La Cruz household, passed by with a basket of supplies from the market. Ernesto shot Héctor a flustered look.

“My Abuela almost heard you stupidio.”

“Si well maybe you shouldn’t keep your novias waiting,” Héctor nudged him with a small laugh, and Ernesto hesitated to look back at him. They shared a look, as Ernesto’s anger fell away to concern, and the smile on Héctor dampened at the corners. Slowly Ernesto began his worried habit of running hands through his hair, then grabbing it tightly as he sank to sit on the grass. Héctor let out a soft sigh and took a seat beside him their shoulders leaning on against one another.

“Whatever they say, we still did it. I’m proud of us, and nothing can take that away.” With those words he laid his head upon Ernesto’s shoulder nudging him encouragingly. It took a moment but Ernesto unclenched his fists and seemingly exhaled whatever tension he was dragging with the traveling bag on his back. “Vamos, the sooner you talk to them the sooner it’s done.” Ernesto gave him a small reluctant nod, not enough response to satisfy Héctor. With the swiftness of a fluttering bird he took hold of Ernesto’s chin to kiss each of his cheeks like a doting parent, then jumped to his feet.

“Ay!” gasped Ernesto, who went a shade of red in surprise as he scrambled to his feet. “You can’t just-!”

“Vamos vamos!” Héctor laughed. “If we’re going to fight Juan tonight let’s get his lecture over with.”

“I’m going to get you back for that.” Ernesto sighed, but he had a tiny smile underneath his fashionable mustache now. “And don’t say anything stupid in front of my padres.”

* * *

 

“My handsome mijo,” Jimena had pulled Ernesto against her ample breast nearly two minutes ago and had yet to let him go. Héctor was beginning to wonder if he should intervene to save him from suffocation. Ernesto wanted nothing more than to melt away.

Thankfully, his abuela was forced to give him up when his Madre, Alma De La Cruz, entered the hallway where the boys had been stopped. At her son’s appearance she did not break down with joy to embrace him like his Abuela, but instead looked on in a momentary shock.

“Ernesto…” The way she spoke always reminded one of a ghost, it was low, gentle, and easy to miss or dismiss as wind if not carefully listened for. Freeing himself from his Abuela, Ernesto placed a kiss on each of her cheeks as a dutiful son. “Are you truly here? It has been so long.”

“Si Màma, it was not too long…” However he couldn’t help but feel concern as he looked over her, there was a weariness below her eyes which was only accentuated by her long painted lashes. She had always been a thin woman-a reminder as he embraced her carefully, hoping he wouldn’t crumble her to dust. Not expecting her son’s homecoming she was adorned simply, a linen top and skirt with a colorful red sash at the middle.

“I prayed to our ancestors for your safety…” She ran a hand over his cheek, then noticed Héctor standing patiently in the hall and offered him the same small smile. “And of course for yours too Héctor…oh what is this, apparently I did not pray enough?” The obvious bruise caught her attention as she made a soft tutting noise.

“This? Oh no no…I barely feel it.” Héctor lied as her touch across it made his jaw throb. “Thanks for praying for me…”

“Well I’ll make sure to add another prayer. Come,” Alma ushered them to the ofrenda room-which she maintained all year long. It was an impressive display, and though it only had a few photos (leaving the De La Cruz family looking quite lonely) Alma kept candles lit for them all year long. It was subject of contention between Héctor and Ernesto, whether this was a respectable and noble deed, or part of his Màma’s subtle expectations as Ernesto argued. After all, it was not as if the ancestors could cross over any other time except Dia Los Muertos.

Either way, every time Ernesto looked at the altar he felt a shiver of his own insignificance. Since he could speak and understand words, his Màma had spent time telling him the great deeds of all his forefathers. Heroes of various wars who had laid down their lives for the good of Mexico, and their doting wives. Ernesto would bitterly complain that his family preferred to be lost in the previous generation’s war glory because their own lacked any reputation so impressive such as ‘dying by a canon to the back’.

Part of his anxiety about returning home had been that it would be a partial disappointment he had _not_ gotten caught up in the gunpowder and glory of the Revolution. It was foolish, Ernesto thought. For all these war heroes, half of them lacked a photo to even display on an ofrenda they died so suddenly and unknown on some distant battlefield. Despite his sentiment he obeyed, along with Héctor, in joining his Màma for a prayer of gratitude that they had reached home safely.

Before the altar, the trio took to their knees and pressed together their palms taking their cues from Alma, as was usual whenever in the De La Cruz house. And like every time Ernesto struggled with the conflicting emotions that the act brought on. Often times it felt as though his Màma was more apart of the dead than she was the living the amount she spoke of the land beyond. What purpose was there in sharing their success when she would merely smile passively as she did in nearly every situation.

It was disturbing to consider the greatest honor in his family was to make it on the ofrenda to have his death glorified while his life was purposeless. By the time they finished paying tribute, Ernesto had lost the will to even reminisce about the road with his Madre, the resentment eating away at his chest.

“Your Pàpa will be so pleased at your homecom-,” Alma had barely begun a new thought when Ernesto cut her off.

“I actually can not stay long Màma.” When her face fell at the words Ernesto already had a smooth response, “I wanted to start work as soon as we returned so I have to go to the cantina-soon, we just came by to greet you and drop off my things.” It appeared she was fighting her instincts as Alma managed another meek smile and ran a hand over Ernesto’s cheek.

“That will also please your Pàpa then…we will have to hear of your travels tomorrow.” Then she returned her gaze to the ofrenda. It was enough indiction for the boys as Ernesto made a dart to his own room and Héctor shuffled after in toe, unable to stop himself from stealing a pitying glance at Alma.

“I hate it when you do this.” Whispered Héctor.

“Now isn’t the right time to tell her.” Came a sharp reply from Ernesto as he nearly threw his bag across the room.

“She missed you can’t you see that?”

“Not particularly.”

“We don’t have work for hours. Why don’t we just share a coffee with her-.”

“Or we could go get new straps for our guitars. They’re practically falling apart.”

“Ernesto the plan-.”

“I know what the plan was!” The words came out as a near roar as Ernesto turned away pacing toward the window. There was moment of silence, Ernesto finding the means to neutralize his expression by focusing on whatever he could outside.

Héctor folded his arms in frustration but didn’t know how to even reproach Ernesto in this situation. The tension of the De La Cruz house was a tangled web he had been trying since his childhood to navigate and mediate. Before he could think of a response Ernesto broke the silence.

“…Can we just get out here…por favor?” The note of softness in his normally jubilant voice won over Héctor as he approached him from behind patting his shoulders.

“I’ll race you to the road.”

* * *

 

Imelda had not felt this unprepared in years. Normally she approached every situation with precision and caution, but now she stood at the gate of the Rivera home feeling nothing but trepidation and uncertainty about her next move.

The prospect of lying to her Padres only crossed her mind for a mere second, before it was dismissed with disgust. An honorable and noble girl as herself did not reduce her behaviors to lying-especially when there was nothing threatening or reasonably frightful about this situation. At least, that was what she continuously told herself in whispered affirmation until she finally reached the front door, beneath the Panderia Sign, and forced herself to knock. It threw off the majority of her rehearsed speech when Señora Rivera opened the door, flour covered apron at her waist, and her Sunday best long put away.

“Buenos Dias, are you picking up an order or placing one?” It was shockingly direct for a woman, but Imelda wasn’t about to judge as it was obvious from her sweat and hurried step the woman was working very hard.

“Oh…lo siento I am actually-…” Now she felt her voice catching. Inquiring after her son? It was going to seem as though she was some fanciful girl with a torch for Héctor Rivera. It only made her further frustrated as she stumbled for words trying to find the perfect response-this was so humiliating it almost brought on tears. Why was she here-why did she have to be sorry when she was only protecting herself?

“You’re Imelda aren’t you? The sheriff’s hija?” Despite her obvious workload Señora Rivera’s tone had suddenly become slower and more familiar. Imelda was struggling for words as she managed a nod to preserve some sense of dignity. “Why don’t you come in and decide? It’s windy today,” And before her pride could catch up Imelda was allowing herself to be led indoors by a soft but guiding hand on the shoulder.

The kitchen was very warm indeed, the smells of fresh bread, cakes, and pastries pleasantly wafting through the air. The amount of boxed and wrapped products on the counter was rather astounding-it was shocking to behold one woman was capable of all of this work, and it immediately created a reverence in her heart for Señora Rivera despite how people whispered of her. “I was about to make some hot chocolate, would you like some?”

“Gracias…” Imelda finally found words again and only then realized how hot her cheeks had become pressing a hand to her face. “I meant to speak to Héctor…about business.” She added sternly. “At the cantina. Is he home?” This was better, she was regaining footing and calm.

“Ah no, he ran off to Casa De La Cruz right after church, but he did tell me I would see him for supper so I imagine we can expect him soon.” As she spoke she busied herself at the stove then half looked around waving to Imelda. “Please sit, sit ” It was shockingly pleasant when Imelda felt she had been so horridly ill mannered, but the entire situation still had her reeling.

In her best judgement she should accept this as a blessing and tell her Pàpa she could not apologize-the boy was not home-yet despite that judgement she found herself taking a seat so flabbergasted by the series of events.

“You know I think I remember you, you used to sit on the church steps with Héctor when he practiced guitar didn’t you?” It was a memory even Imelda hadn’t thought on in a long time, as she tried to recall the image of herself before she was woman, and allowed to roam with boys freely.

“Yes…we were both trying to learn music after Sunday School, if I recall.”

“Weren’t you the one with him when he stole the guitar?” Imelda felt immediate embarrassment at the question, despite the fact it was asked with a laugh. The lecture she had received from the incident had been so shameful she had nearly repressed the memory. She, and the tall thin boy from choir ‘borrowing’ the guitar from the shop window because they had always wanted to touch one and the only time they got to see instruments was during choir. It had to be at least ten years ago at this point, as she nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I think we were too young to understand the difference between borrowing and stealing…” came her sheepish reply.

“Oh si, it still gives me a laugh though how he lifted that guitar when it was bigger than him!” Her entire demeanor had shifted-the exhaustion replaced with warmth as she placed a mug before Imelda and sat down beside her. “I hear you sing now at the Cantina.”

“Yes, I do.” Imelda felt a confidence return, she did not taste the beverage but sat up more alertly in preparation for the series of question every woman in town had for her. ‘You sing? Alone?’, ‘What does your Pàpa think?’, ‘Just what kind of songs are you singing if they are not Gospel?’, ‘I never pictured you as a musica kind of nina…’, ‘What a pity…’ and lastly of course a disturbed look the implied sin and then change of subject.

“How lovely, you still enjoy music after all these years.” Was her response as she took a drink of her own chocolate. Imelda waited for another comment but the woman didn’t appear to have one as the next thing she said was, “I am pleased you came. Héctor spends so much time alone with his notebook and Ernesto I worry he has no other amigos at times.”

Imelda nearly contradicted the woman-it had been years since she could really consider herself Héctor Rivera’s friend but the smile on Señora Rivera’s face was somehow holding back her tongue-or maybe it was her continuing nerves. Better off she think them friends than some illicit affair going on. When she couldn’t think of a response she finally tasted the chocolate and was startled how sweet it was-too sweet. There wasn’t even the smallest hint of spice in it.

“I don’t mean to take up your time…I could always return another time-,”

“MA-MA!” A voice echoed through the hacienda that made Imelda nearly jump out of her chair.. The energetic tone could only belong to Héctor-and it was instantly confirmed as he nearly skated into the kitchen, swinging around the wall panel with his hand. “Is there still time for supper? I have to go in twenty minutes because Ernesto and his grande boca got us more hours,” He knelt down and kissed each of his mother’s cheeks but as he rose up he did a startled jump of his own seeing Imelda sitting at the table. Imelda wasn’t sure what he was thinking, but it apparently couldn’t be good because he seemed to almost inch toward the exit, and go pale, before croaking out, “S-Señorita Lopéz!...Buenas Dias!”

“Señor Rivera…” Imelda replied as evenly as possible, keeping her expression neutral-for some reason he only sweat more at the simple greeting. Josefina sat between the exchange either apathetic to the strange behavior, or perhaps simply too tired to worry about the affairs of her son. After all, Imelda reminded herself, if he was this worldly boy now surely his Madre had far more things to worry about her son doing than how he got along with a local village girl.

“Héctor, Imelda came by looking for you, and you’re welcome to stay for supper.” With that strange casualness she kissed her son hello, and then, to Imelda’s alarm, left them. For the first time in years she found herself in private, alone, with a boy old enough she had to consider him a _man._


	3. Doubts

            The most bizarre image Héctor would have ever conjured finding in his kitchen was the image of his goat taking on the baking while his Màma napped. Now the surreal image of Imelda Lopéz seated there, with hot chocolate, in her Sunday best, awaiting him-had taken its place.

Instantly dread sank to the pit of his stomach nearly eliminating any appetite he’d felt upon charging into the house. Somehow he had angered her again. Then again, as Ernesto had scolded him earlier, he had indeed caused quite a scene in the middle of Sunday mass. Once more to his growing frustration, she had every right to be annoyed. Well at least this time she had given him the opportunity to apologize properly-in private. Still he was momentarily surprised he was having this moment alone with perhaps the most polished and decorum conscious girl he knew. It occurred to him she must have a chaperone hiding somewhere but from all his observations she was alone. How much had she changed in his time away?

            “Listen…I was not trying to make things difficult for you during the mass, but I thought it would be uh more rude to go to your house an-.” Imelda stood suddenly ending his attempt at yet another plea for her forgiveness.

            “I’ve come to extend my apologies.” The curtness of her tone cut through him like a knife, or maybe it was the intense focus of her brown eyes that felt like arrows into his chest. Either way something knocked him off kilter because he swore he was hearing wrong.

“Is this…to show me the error of my ways?” Oh Dios mio, had she been going on to Màma about how rudely he had behaved? How he had chased her down? Shame became transparent on him as he nervously squeezed his wrist in one hand.

“If you are implying I am making a mockery of you I am not. I…” He was apologizing again, Imelda thought, and now she too was ashamed. “I should not have made such a quick assumption about you last evening…” Somehow it wasn’t as difficult to say as she had feared, there wasn’t a sign of gloating or chastisement coming from him. Instead he seemed to relax entirely, his shoulders going slack and large sigh coming out. “I’m sorry. I-…well I was…”

“You were scared.”

  
“I was **not!** ”

“So sometimes you just like to blow some steam with a good fist fight?”

“…No…it was an accident. I thought you were one of the men who pulled at my dress.”

“Ah no problema, like I said I should not have been running at you screaming in the dark like some loco hombre.” Héctor gave her a small apologetic smile, and she simply nodded more than happy to agree and end the awkward conversation.

The pair stood in silence for an awkward stretch of seconds. Héctor was the first to become uncomfortable enough that he opened his mouth-but then closed it. Then suddenly he opened it again with a smile.

“Would you give me the chance to begin again?”

“What do you mean?”

“To make a more proper introduction?” Imelda cocked her head curiously to his question, then he held out his hand signaling ‘one moment’ with his finger, and swiftly left the kitchen. Baffled, Imelda let out a low huff and just as she was about to exit the kitchen he reentered with a casual stroll. “Oh! Señorita Lopéz. Buenos tardes it has been so long since we spoke how have you been?” And he extended a long bony hand to her in an amicable greeting. To her surprise it was somehow very comforting after all of their misunderstandings-this ridiculous effort finally seemed enough to believe his intentions were as noble as he stated. With a tentative smile Imelda took his hand even though it was the kind of greeting reserved for men.

“Señor Rivera, it has been a long time, you are…”She struggled to come up with ideas for this scenario-but he was smiling with such enthusiasm it seemed any response would be appropriate. “…much taller than I recall.”

“Oh gracias, mi Màma is worried my head will hit the door frame soon. But really how do you do?” He stressed asking for feelings once more as it took her a second to realize she disregarded them while he kept shaking her hand.

“Not bad…an hombre was getting on my nerves before but my day is going much better now.” Imelda added, and her brutal honesty forced another sheepish smile from Héctor as he finally released her hand.

“Well I am pleased to know it is improving...would you like to stay for supper?” Imelda was taken aback, of course it was courtesy to offer a meal, but even after all this he was still mature enough to offer to break bread.

“Well I…told my padres I would come home for supper-,”

“Allow me to escort you?” Imelda opened her mouth to deny him again-but he was still giving her such an enthusiastic grin it was like shooing away a street dog. The sun was setting, and perhaps he did have some interesting news of the road to share.

“Very well.”

* * *

 

“Uh let’s see, Tlaxiaco, then Acatlan, Puebla City, Mexico City, then Veracruz, then we got lost for a while in this itty bitty place called Los Santos, then Teluacán-then we were lost again-and then I’m not entirely sure how but we made it back.” Héctor recollected his recent travels counting each city on a finger.

“That sounds like a frequent amount of losing your way…didn’t you bring a map?” Imelda’s tone was clearly wary, and now she was truly analyzing Rivera, as they walked a comfortable distance apart on the dirt pathway through town.

“Well si, of course we weren’t stupid.”

“Then why not use the map…?”

“Oh…uh-…” Héctor hesitated, he wasn’t certain about going into the details of a drunken night where he _may_ have scribbled on the map as parchment for song lyrics-and then Ernesto _may_ have mistakenly used it as tinder for the fireplace. “There were complications.” From the corner of his eye he noticed her exasperated eyeroll.

Once again an awkward silence came over the two-Héctor beginning to regret his offer as an escort. Suddenly Imelda exhaled heavily as if she had made a well-timed decision once they were out of the main plaza.

“I understand you probably saw many musicos in your travels…and people have perceptions of sénoritas who go on stage and perform, that they must have looser morals or looser Pàpas but that is not the case for me. I just enjoy singing-that is all. I want to make that clear.” Imelda waved her hand stressing the point, and it seemed to cut at any doubt like a knife.

“Did you think I thought…oh dios Imelda, I would have never thought that of you. I was just excited to see someone who loved music so much. The way you sang-I just imagined the entire scene in my head of the Adelita and it was like being in Mexico City again!” Héctor stopped in his tracks waving his hand in protest, and the strange amount of passion in his tone truly moved Imelda for a moment.

“Well…isn’t that the point, music is supposed to tell a story.” Imelda muttered sternly, aloofly, but it only seemed to excite him further.

“Exactly! Whenever I write a song I try to ask myself-who is it for? And then it comes out so clearly since it almost becomes a conversation with this imaginary person and it’s just a story I have to tell them. The same thing happens with poems-,”

“You write poems?”

“Uh…” Héctor hesitated feeling a faint blush from how much he had suddenly volunteered. “S-sometimes.” He added more meekly resuming their walk.

“What are they about?” Imelda’s frankness was making him especially off kilter as he let out a nervous laugh.

“Well…all sorts of things…music…sometimes about missing my Pàpa, um…I try to think about what things could be like when the Revolution ends too.” Despite the smile on his face a cynical look lingered on Imelda’s. She was hesitant to respond, everyone knew what happened to Héctor Rivera’s Father, hence why people didn’t dare bring it up. It was odd he so casually addressed it.

“How can you possibly know what the end of the revolution will be like?” It wasn’t so much a question but a critique.

“I don’t think anyone can know for certain,” Héctor added with a shrug, “but it’s nice to dream isn’t it?” The look she gave him was evidence enough she disagreed. “Come on,” to her surprise he suddenly gave a soft nudge to her shoulder. “I can already guess your dream.”

“Que?” Imelda gave him a flat look, clearly not intrigued by his proposition. Once again Héctor took a cautious step back.

“Singing! Well, what I mean is Juan is difficult-trust me Ernesto and I are always arguing with him-which is sort of why I was so shocked to see a local girl up there singing…” Héctor trailed off sheepishly not looking to offend her. Instead Imelda let out what seemed a very measured sigh that prevented her from unleashing another round of anger.

 “I had to argue with Juan to let me sing, I pleaded and promised to do work even…however when hombres hear a woman sing they _stare_ instead of _listen_ and I just...that’s why I hit you. Every other hombre to approach me after a set had other questions than about singing.” The fury on her face looked as though she would personally send a fist across all their noses if she had the chance and Héctor took one more cautious step to the side.

“Well…maybe they should learn to close their eyes then.” And for a moment the look on her face softened-a small half smile but her next words were the last thing he expected.

“I could give them all black eyes…” Imelda muttered. Héctor stared at her, she was not very tall or formidable in appearance. The idea of this girl viciously taking on a bar of drunken men seemed so bizarre-and yet when he looked at her-all of the conviction in her voice-the fire in her deep brown eyes-he could believe it and it somehow filled him with such a deep admiration and awe of her. Instantly Imelda’s head snapped up looking at him coldly. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“You remind me of an ocelot, you’re so formidable despite your size. I was just imagining you actually doing that, fighting all the men, and you would really do it wouldn’t you?”

“Of course, if I needed to.” And with a huff the girl folded her arms, and Héctor could feel his esteem growing. She was so passionate about her art she would do anything to defend it-there was something so charming and it made a strange flutter in his stomach.

“Like an ocelot, unafraid and undeterred by any darkness nor size of the jungle’s most formidable predators-,” Héctor was cut off as she suddenly let out a surprised snort of a laugh then quickly covered her mouth in a polite manner.

“Do you…always talk like that now? Was that some sort of poem?”

“Heh, only sometimes when I get carried away.” Héctor couldn’t help but grin widely, Ernesto’s mocking normally earned him a disgruntled look-but for some reason now he couldn’t stop smiling. Imelda did a double take and eyed him curiously.

“Your tooth is gold.”

“Oh si,” This was perfect, now he could impress her. “I survived a few scuffles on the road,” And attempted a casual stretch (like Ernesto had shown him) of barely existent muscles.

“You should try to get an ivory one it’s very noticeable.” Héctor froze with a nervous laugh unsure what to do with his arms now oddly hanging above his head. 

“So-um…are you singing again tonight?” He casually tried to change the subject and adjust his arms in a way that didn’t look like a stroke.

“No,” Imelda shook her head. “Juan only allows me once a week unless there is a cancelation or an especially dead evening.” Once more she was repressing some anger which was very visible to Héctor as he couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity-he had Ernesto had been in a similar position before their departure. “I’m certain I only had Saturday evening because hombres enjoy looking at a young pretty girl.” She scoffed.

“Maybe you should work there with us-behind the counters or the kitchen! That’s how Ernesto and I were able to earn some reputation and more nights. As soon as the roster opened up we were usually around to claim the spot.” Héctor gave her an encouraging smile, and she again looked away folding her arms.

“I doubt my Papá would allow it.”

“Well…maybe you can persuade him.”

“Are you suggesting I go against my Papá?” Imelda gave him an incredulous look, and rose a judgmental brow.

“I’m…suggesting…” Héctor awkwardly slid his hands in his pockets looking away from her intense gaze. “Maybe…you’ll find a way…I don’t think you should not sing just because you’re a girl…”

            “Well of course, I am just as capable if not more capable as you.” Imelda said flatly looking in the opposite direction. Héctor couldn’t help but feel his stomach do a flip, and before he could process what the feelings meant they were at the gate of the López hacienda. Imelda spat suddenly, “Graciasforwalkingmehome” at such a speed he barely understood, then suddenly rushed inside leaving him staring after her in what felt like the aftermath of a speeding train’s jerking halt.

* * *

 

            “Damn it, tell me you’re joking Fideo.” Ernesto scowled in disgust leaning on his broom as he momentarily paused mopping his side of the stage. Opposite him Héctor did a little twirl with his mop like it were a dance partner.

            “I don’t know she’s just-she’s so passionate Ernesto!” The ridiculous smile on his face was enough to make Ernesto queasy.

            “She _punched_ you.”

            “That was a misunderstanding.”

            “Even better, she still punched you stupido.”

            “Ernesto-,”

            “This is what I meant about you being too nice.”

            “Ay me, she apologized didn’t you hear me?” Héctor gave his friend a judgmental look as he held his mop dance partner in a dip. “Which is more than you do,” He added in a sing-song smirk.

            “I’ve never _punched_ you!”

            “What about the time you grabbed my cujones to get me to stop singing in front of that chica.” The tone of dramatic mock offense came out once more me with a judgmental look of a flat face.

            “You kicked me in mine more times than I can count!”

            “On accident, dancing! I can’t help it you’re not as tall _Marrana_.”

            “And in the bed!”

            “Maybe if you weren’t so gordito,” Héctor reached out his mop and pressed Ernesto in the side with it.

            “You’re confused _Fideo,_ you’re just so paper thin anything seems gordito to you.” The poke was returned and a moment later they were in complete duel of wooden sticks-thankfully concealed behind the stage curtain or else it would surely earn them a chastisement from Guillermo. Each had to muffle their laughter to not get caught and it went on until Ernesto slipped on one of the wet spots landing with a comical thud. Stifling laughter Héctor cautiously side-stepped the puddles to offer a hand to his fallen amigo.

            “That’s what happens when you’re gordito, gravity yanks you down-,” No sooner had Ernesto taken his hand that he yanked Héctor down beside him throwing the usually balanced boy off kilter to a flailing flamingo. For a moment they were a lopsided pair of limbs nearly falling into a familiar wrestling match. They had barely caught ahold one another’s fists between smirks and chuckles when Ernesto lifted his head stealing a kiss off Héctor. The revenge was affective, and instantly the lankier of the two paused going red staring at Ernesto’s smirk beneath him. There was an unspoken competition between them, and so not to be undone he kissed his pinned friend once again-struggling to free his hands from Ernesto’s stronger hold.

            Neither were escaping though, and somewhere in the midst of this playful struggle they were kissing with much more intention and open mouths. Perhaps the reason they kept hold of each other’s hands was to make sure they didn’t carry the behavior to the next level.

            “I DON’T HEAR CLEANING BACK THERE!” the distant bellow of Guillermo broke them apart in a fit of cackles. Letting one another go they stood muffling laughter behind hands as they exchanged knowing looks. Without speaking of the exchange each found their discarded mop and resumed cleaning rapidly. Héctor kept stealing glances at Ernesto and couldn’t help but notice he looked happiest yet since returning home.

* * *

 

            It took a series of annoying Guillermo, finishing tasks at lightning speed, and finally begging, to earn an audience with Juan. That, and promising to stay after closing to do _all_ of the dishes. Juan’s office war up a staircase which offered a view of the majority of the cantina floor. He was a man of the cities, and seemed to often believe he was still there, the way he treated his simple Cantina in meek Santa Cecilia.

Juan was portly man who always dressed to the nines, but Ernesto had commented many times (in private) it was just to overcompensate for his rapidly receding hairline. True he probably would have more hair if he didn’t yank at it whenever something appeared to go awry in the Cantina. Otherwise he kept an air of a smooth, and cultured business man-which only fooled the most naïve of the residents.

            Now months ago, after a night of drinking, and being absolutely exhausted from the persistent badgering of two adolescent musico employees he struck a bit of an impulsive bet. Rivera and De La Cruz had been playing for years, and it was _true_ the kids were getting better as time went on. However a business was not going to attract the town or its many travelers by letting a pair of local, unpolished, and young boys take center stage. And that was what he asserted, people came to Cantinas to hear real musicians, meaning talented ones that had been paid for their craft before. The boys were convinced though they had the talent to be paid and could prove it. Therefore he promised, they could have a Friday evening prime slot, if they performed at real club or cantina for pay.

            Well to Juan’s dismay the two were looking very cheeky in his office recollecting their tales, and pulling out check receipts which they had saved just for this occasion to prove their success. The man slumped in his worn office chair sucking on the end of his cigarette in hopes they would stop talking soon enough. It’s not like he could simply dismiss them-they did manage to do good work around the Cantina when not screwing around. That, and the local patrons found the brats so charming it would only harm his business. Lastly, he had to admit to his own soft spot for the two despite how much of a headache they caused. They weren’t terrible muscians-either of them. Rivera was an especially talented guitar player and De la Cruz certainly could sing. He scrutinized the check receipt searching for an excuse it was a forgery or something but instead he was left looking at their smug faces.

            “Dios mío are you done yet?” The man finally groaned tapping the edge of his crumpled cigarette on an ash tray. They were significantly older than since they began begging for a spot-their time away had certainly aged them. That would help please an audience two young, at least one attractive, boys bursting with energy for a crowd. Both were sitting on the edge of their seats ready to argue. “I’ll give you Friday at 8:00 in two weeks once the roster opens.” Exasperated he opened his tobacco case pulling out a new cigarette. Ernesto and Héctor exchanged looks as though they had misheard. “What are you sitting around for, I thought you told Guillermo you’d close up.”

            “We have the third Friday from now?” Héctor spoke cautiously hard to believe it.

            “Si.”

            “Ocho en la noche?

            “ _Si.”_

“It’s ours and won’t be given away, it will be written on the roster?”

“Si chamaco!” Juan huffed out another cloud of smoke with harsh cough.

“You promise-,”

“Si! I promise, to Dios, your Mamás, the sun, the grave, etcetera.”

“Oh Juan!” Héctor leapt to his feet and leaned across the desk embracing the man. “You will not regret this!” He kissed the man’s cheeks and Ernesto yanked him back by the suspenders.

“Juan,” Ernesto was now taking Juan’s hand in a charming fashion. “You will not regret this. We will move the entire house with ecstasy.” Juan looked like he might swallow his cigarette as he pointed to the door slipping his hand from Ernesto’s grasp.

 

* * *

 

            Once when they were the only two left in the Cantina, tasked with stacking chairs, cleaning dishes, blowing out candles, and removing garbage the pair could finally celebrate. Guillermo left with a warning he would beat them both if they lost the keys, and with a thud of metal to Ernesto’s chest they were alone. Héctor looked at Ernesto and with a count on his fingers the pair let out excited cries which echoed through the empty hall as voluminous gritos and sing song voices.

            “I TOLD YOU!” Héctor nearly tackled Ernesto wrapping a bony arm around his neck. “This is why you need to listen to me!” He practically vibrated with excitement and spun off with a jump.

            “Oh cállate! He looked ready to ring your neck when you kissed him stupidio!” Ernesto laughed slinking back on a bar stool with joy.

            “I had to make sure we could celebrate.” And with a sly smirk Héctor pulled out a pair of stolen cigarettes.

            “Ah te quiero!” Ernesto hopped to his feet and Héctor let out a snicker.

            “Oh _now_ he says te quiero! Is that what it takes to win your affection _Señor De la Cruz_?” Héctor put on his mocking falsetto.

            “You always have my affection, you’re usually just pissing me off.” Ernesto muttered until he found a box of matches behind the bar. Swiftly he hopped back over striking a match on the bottom of his boot and waving Héctor toward him. The pair each held a cigarette between their lips then touched them together while Ernesto held the match between the tips. They drew apart in exhales of smoke, and Ernesto waved out the match. “Shame for Juan, now he’ll wonder where his cigarettes keep going again.”

            “These are so much smoother than ones we were rolling on the road.” Héctor added with a delighted sigh sinking onto a stool beside him.

            “Well savor it I’m pretty sure he figured out it was us and he wasn’t just going senile last time.”

            “You doubt my abilities to crack his safe? I have the ear of a musico.”

            “More like an elephant.” He took hold of one of Héctor’s larger than average ears with a smirk to pull him closer.

            “Ow!-Cállate, be jealous of musical prowess all you like.” With a swat of his hand Héctor freed his ear then slumped his head on Ernesto’s shoulder. “Say you’re proud.”

            “I am proud of us…” Ernesto murmured.

            “Then say it like you mean it.”

            “I’m still worried-,”

            “You’re going to worry yourself to _death.”_ Héctor leapt to his feet standing on the stool. “We’re mariachis, we’re going to play for a full house!” Despite his exclamation he sank down to recline on the bar counter. “You should have talked to your Papá earlier because now you’re still worrying.”

            Ernesto spun on his stool and gave Héctor’s smug face an exhale of smoke. Héctor waved it away with a cough and nudged him away with a small shove.

            “What’s he going to do? Force you to join the priesthood?”

            “Maybe.”

            “He already knew you were serious about music, I think it will be good for him to recognize he’s not always right.”

            “I think you forget what it means to challenge one’s Papá Fideo.” Ernesto sulked and took a long drag. Héctor frowned a moment laying on his back as they each enjoyed their cigarettes and the peaceful silence.

            “I’m not naïve about it, I just think you deserve a shot at your dream. You work harder than anyone I know Ernesto. If it wasn’t for you who would force me up in the morning to rehearse?”

            “I’m just wondering how much longer are we going to have to fight for this…” Came more a sober note from Ernesto as he contemplatively watched the smoke swirl from the ends of the cigarette. Héctor sat up patting him on the shoulder.

            “One day back and already you forget everything we accomplished. People _paid_ us to play! We practiced with some incredible musicians and we became all the better for it!” Triumphantly, Héctor stood upon the bar counter. “Remember what that one-eyed club owner told us in Veracruz?”

            “…’the way you boys play, you could become the kind of musicians you hear on records’…” came a soft sigh from Ernesto.

            “Exactly! And that was not our Mamás talking, or the nice people in church-that was someone who hired and taught musicians! There was no reason to tell us that unless it was the truth! We are talented-we are artists, we are MUSICOS!” Héctor let out another excited grito doing a turn upon the wooden counter and jumped-carefully avoiding from burning himself with the end of his cigarette.

The efforts were triumphant and Ernest appeared to inflate to his former pride and excitement from moments ago. 

“That is unless you would like to go become a priest or marry a local girl…” Héctor added with a mocking smirk and Ernesto hopped on top of his stool giving him a coy look.

            “I think I’m much too adored by women to sacrifice myself to priesthood-now _you_ on the other hand…”

            “Oh because you mean the fact I have some standards and wasn’t going to let just any chica undo my pants…you know that is how diseases spread Ernesto.” Before Ernesto could pull him into a chokehold Héctor dropped down to the opposite side of the bar. Sticking his cigarette in his mouth Ernesto ran after him-only coming to a halt when Héctor held up a half opened bottle of tequila in his defense. “A toast!

            “To getting your culo kicked?”

            “To our success you ass,” Héctor uncorked the bottle and took a swig, coughing from the burn before passing it over.

            “I suppose I can drink to that, after all the world is waiting if Santa Cecilia proves as disappointment.”

            “Exactly! You and I already know we can manage on the road-we just leave together if we don’t like how things are going. We’re hermanos, and can accomplish anything together!” Héctor was beaming, and Ernesto was unable to resist a smile holding up the bottle.

            “To us.” It brought a shade of pink to Héctor’s cheeks-or maybe it was just the alcohol and running. Either way as soon as Ernesto finished his swig, Héctor threw his long arms around him with a laugh.

            “Let’s go home, or I’ll get so drunk you’ll have to carry me.” As he slumped on Ernesto’s shoulder.

            “Didn’t I do that enough already? Ay don’t put the cig in my ear!” He snatched the remaining butt from Héctor’s flinging hands and stomped it out on the floor.

            “Si hence why we should go.”

            “You really promise we will leave?” There was another note of vulnerability in Ernesto’s tone, much like how he had sounded when leaving his home earlier today.

            “Of course, I miss the road already don’t you?” Héctor straightened himself pressing his friend’s face between his hands.

            “Si…I didn’t think I would, but the freedom and prestige leaves you wanting.”

            “Mmhm that’s how Rivera and De la Cruz will become big names.” Héctor threw his hands up excitedly and shifted his weight from Ernesto to the bar counter for support.

            “You’re already slurring you light weight.”

            “I’m not a light weight!”

            “Dios mio it begins, come on Fideo.” Ernesto laughed taking another drag on his own dwindling cigarette. Héctor pulled it from his lips with a coy look he seemed to only acquire after drinking, then drew out the final drag that could be had from it as Ernesto watched with the most captivated eyes.

            “Si si…let’s stack the chairs then we can go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Everyone-thanks for nice comments I really appreciate them! I'll add Spanish translations later on, I'm posting this in a bit of a rush.


	4. Trabajo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the patience everyone! My life is chaotic right now, I'm in treatment for some health stuff and moving soon hence the delays-but my love for this work will not die! I will respond to comments as soon as I can!-every comment is so inspiring and warms my heart. I hope this long chapter is satisfying for my absence!

        “We missed you last evening mijo.” Ernesto had barely made it over the gate of his hacienda when the voice of his Papá caused him to nearly fall. He had left Héctor's home while he was still snoring at sunrise. It seemed like the best time to attempt retrieve his guitar without being seen. How could he have forgotten his Papà enjoyed the early morning for its' solitude and silence. Time away _had_ changed him.

“Buenos Dias Papá,” Ernesto said automatically turning toward his Father in the morning light. Seated on crate against the coop the large man held a pipe between his shriveled lips and underneath his bushy moustache. Esteban contrasted Alma in every way possible; sturdy, bearlike, and instantly heard in each word he said. Ernesto could only hold his pale brown eyes for a moment before glancing away to the carved walking stick at his side.

             “Come over here, doesn’t your Papá receive a proper greeting?” Ernesto managed a forced smile as he strode toward the man kissing him on each cheek. “I see you trimmed down your moustache on the road.”

             “It was the common style in the cities.” Ernesto added dismissively as he flicked his eyes in the opposite direction. However he had only moved his head a centimeter when his Papá caught his chin, holding his face in place. Ernesto inhaled sharply but did not move as he was scrutinized.

             “Hm…it makes your chin look muy grande, but if the mujeres like it who am I to complain…” The man gave Ernesto a small smirk, and his son attempted to return it before waiting to be released. With a soft scoff the tight grip was loosened and he reclined away shuffling his feet.

             “It has not slowed them down.” Ernesto muttered with a meek laugh.

             “Excellente, which of the girls are you thinking of? Or do you need to examine them with your eyes once again.” Despite the warmth of his Papá’s tone, the man’s stiff smile caused Ernesto to straighten in his posture a touch more rigidly.

             “Ah…no se, I will have to look them over once again…as you said I do not want to make a mistake. ‘Better to be a priest than wed to the wrong woman’.”

             “Perfecto,” the man’s smile remained stagnant as he took a drag upon his pipe. Ernesto felt his throat nearly burning with words he wanted to shout, but his moment passed as his Father began again.

             “And tell me, did you explore the military bases while on the road?” The question came with a smoke ring running over Ernesto. His response nearly hiccupped out it caught him so off-guard.

             “Oh si, Héctor and I made stops at several…” Ernesto managed a convincing smile despite the sheer stupidity of his lie. The last thing either he or Héctor would have wasted their time on would be anything remotely related to the brutality of the Revolution.

“I am proud to hear that. I was worried you were starting to think you would make a better priest instead of Colonel.”

“With this build? Nada Papá.” He quoted half absently and nodded along gesturing to his smooth biceps. The strongest relief came that he had not managed to get his guitar at the moment.

“Good. I expect to hear more about it once I finish my pipe. Hopefully you met some of my amigos. You should clean up; I can smell the cantina on you.”

“Si Papá, it was a busy evening…pardoname.” He spoke with all the steadiness he could despite wanting nothing more than to make his exit swiftly. The moment his Papá gave a dismissive nod Ernesto turned on his heel in the dirt his breath finally coming through clearly. He forced a deeper rhythm of breathing to calm his own anger in that moment.

 

It took nearly a week for him to finally describe the details of the encounter to Héctor, and subsequent hour of tales which he had spun about invigorating trips to military stations and schools. Héctor listened with his fingers pinched over the top of his nose, staving off a headache as he sat on the bar counter.

“This was why we made a _plan_ idiota.”

“Don’t lecture me-this is why I didn’t want to tell you.”  Ernesto muttered putting his anger into the aggressively cutting at an ice block for the evening’s future drinks.

“Well now he’s expecting you to get a letter for some school or propose to a local girl!”

“I _know_ Héctor.”

"What if he writes one of his amigos about our 'visit'-I remember them, some of them are even bigger than he is!" Ernesto didn't respond he slammed his knife in deeper to the ice and shot a glare. With a huff Héctor exhaled seeming to do some recalculating in his mind. "Well I'm sure we could buy you some time from getting sent away to some military battalion, if you can court a local girl-hey hey don't make that face, we go to the city and suddenly you're too good for local girls?"

"The last thing I want is to be strapped down by some local chica, but that's your dream now that we're suddenly back and you saw a bonita girl sing-"

"Hey hey!" Héctor snapped his fingers to get his attention. "I'm not anymore interested in giving up music for Santa Cecilia than you. Now what I'm saying is just court a chica for a bit, draw it out. Dance around the idea of a proposal-you know exactly what you did to every girl in the city."

“I’m holding a knife.” Ernesto tsked half heartedly and shoved Héctor’s knee.

“I know, I’ll put a dress and pretend to be your fiancé from the city.” Came a sarcastic snicker from Héctor as he shoved his knee against Ernesto’s shoulder.

“My parents aren’t stupid enough to forget your giant nose or let me marry such an ugly girl.”

Before Héctor could retort a loud “WHAT” erupted from upstairs causing both to look up curiously at the open window of Juan’s office. An instant later the window slammed shut and the pair exchanged looks wondering if their cigarette thieving or other dubious behavior had been discovered.

 

On the contrary, Juan’s current stress did not even arise from the male sex. Instead the large man was sweating due to the petite girl calmly seated across from his desk. Imelda’s expression was the opposite stern, arms folded, and intensely focused as the man returned from the window.

“I think you know very well what I mean without me having to explain myself.” Imelda said keeping her voice steady, resisting the urge to yell. “Now I have every right to work and earn my wage here just as any of the incompetent boys you hire.” Juan held in what appeared to a snarl practically biting off the end of his cigarette as he faced off with the young woman as she raised a questioning brow. Finally the man pointed a thick finger to the door.

“Fine. Downstairs. Only when Guillermo needs assistance at the bar.” Imelda prepared a sharp remark ready to argue further, “And don’t make me drag your Padre into this!” This silenced her as she chewed her lip to hold in the venom she had saved up.

“Fine.” And with that Imelda left taking her half victory and slamming the door behind her. The bang rattled through the mostly empty cantina save for its employees. Ernesto and Héctor were interrupted from restocking the taps (and devising a scheme for Ernesto's fake courtship) by the sound as their eyes traveled up to the sight of the fuming girl at the top of the staircase.

“Ten pesos she killed Juan…” Ernesto whispered. Héctor withheld a laugh until sobriety smacked the pair with realization she walking in their direction.

“She-she’s coming over…”

“Are you excited or afraid?”

“A little of both…” Héctor sighed. Ernesto made a sour face and nudged him in the side.

“Did you do something to upset her again?”

“I haven’t spoken to her in a week!”

“Maybe you blinked incorrectly in her view…”

“Càllate!”

“Oh did you lose your nerve I thought her ‘passion’ was-,” However he never finished because the hard heel of Héctor’s boot came down upon his toe. Ernesto winced, and let out a string of curses causing Imelda pause as she reached them. Imelda’s hair was braided back, and her cheeks especially flushed as she approached the pair in their stained leather aprons. Once they were all in earshot of one another silence fell amongst the boys which she boldly cut through.

“I’m here to work, and I expect the same respect you show one another if not more. Where is Guillermo?” The bluntness of the command left the two slack-jawed, one because a young mujer of all things was joining their ranks in a rather rough and unsavory position-and two, because she did not even seem concerned of the odd status it put her in, to be barmaid of all things. Héctor found his voice putting his hands together excitedly.

“You’re working-here-with us?”

“Isn’t that what I just said-,” Imelda began impatiently.

“So you spoke to your Papá after all!” Her confident smile dampened as her shoulders visibly tensed. Obviously he hadn't expected her to take his suggestion this literally-he had expected instead her doing some help in the kitchen or perhaps some cleaning-anything a little more dainty.

“I don’t see how that is anyone’s business-,”

“Oh my, are you here without Sheriff López’s permission?” Ernesto chimed in now much more invigorated in the conversation as he leaned upon his elbows across the counter. Imelda’s face seemed to flush further, but it was difficult to tell from how she angled her gaze across the room. True the two hadn’t had much of a conversation since their days in church choir.

They had been amongst the groups of children always competing for solos, and Ernesto had never liked Imelda’s tendency to correct everyone if their pitch or Latin was off, general haughtiness, and insufferable devotion to the decorum (except for when threating to smack people with her choir book). That, and Imelda López had a reputation for ruining anyone and everyone’s fun, due to her adherence of laws as the sheriff’s daughter. Many stories of their peers ended with distain that the _hija de Aguacil_ had threatened to fetch her Papá had they not stopped whatever entertaining scheme had been going on. Ernesto loathed how the girl always found a means to get her way and simply expected everyone to obey.

Imelda in turn, had never like Ernesto’s desire to showboat, sing far more forte than needed, and flirt with every single person in the choir except for her, after she so pointedly insulted his meek attempt at facial hair at the time. Ernesto (and Héctor by extension) had a penance for assuming rules didn’t apply to him. Imelda assumed it came from the fact most people would swoon over his charming nature to look the other way, and his Papá’s (and nearly whole family’s) reputation as a war hero. Neither factors did anything for Imelda’s judgement except annoy her that someone could do no work of any kind but reap rewards based on reputation. True, this was years ago and now Ernesto was plenty old enough for his moustache to be handsome and groomed, and Imelda was no longer such a busy body about town or teacher’s pet that sought constant validation. But the stained memories remained when the two locked eyes.

“I am a grown woman!” She barked.

“Si, I am sure your Papá must be so proud of your work…” Ernesto began mockingly and Imelda immediately cut him off.

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” And each fiery word came closer to his face as she unabashedly leaned upon the counter. Héctor noticed the tiny cringe in Ernesto’s brow, which to his familiar eye signified the alarm Imelda was causing. He too couldn’t help but feel a similar sense of surprise, it wasn’t often they met people this demanding and fearless to someone as tall and muscular as Ernesto was.

             “Depends if you’re here to be Mexico’s most violent _Monja_ or actually work.” He retorted folding his arms in an attempt to keep his grounding and remind himself he was the elder here, and they were not climbing the plaza roof where she could threaten to fetch her Papá if they did not immediately get down.

             “I see you still don’t have any ounce of gentlemanly manners Sénor De la Cruz, maybe next time I see all your potential fiancés I should share those stories so you become the town’s least eligible bachelor.” Came a seething hiss from Imelda.

             “And I see you’re still a complete pu-,”

             “OH we are excited to have some help!” Héctor practically threw himself between the two reclining on the bar counter. “Guillermo is a vicious Patrón, and hopefully having a lovely niña around will soften him up.” Héctor began over dramatically getting both of their attentions. Imelda immediately put distance between herself and Héctor, and Ernesto scowled even as Héctor sat up putting a lanky arm around his neck. “There are aprons in the back…” Héctor pointed with a forced laugh, and Imelda left the pair maintaining a cold glare on Ernesto until he was out of eyesight.

             “Ugn puta…” Ernesto muttered until Héctor pushed his head with a flat look. “You heard her!” he quipped defensively.

             “She’s here because she wants to sing just like us...she's got a lot of drive just like you. Come on we aren’t a bunch of immature niños anymore.”

             “You really want that hawk on our shoulders, lecturing us over every task, having a fit every time we have a sip of tequila, threatening to-,”

             “ _Ernesto_ , mi amigo, mi querida, mi,-“

             “Get to the point.”

             “If she’s here, there’s less focus on us for Guillermo to yell at.” Ernesto huffed folding his arms as he sulked against the counter in surrender.

             “It’s a shame she’s like this otherwise she would be a good addition to look at instead of Guillermo’s ugly face.” Ernesto relented, and Héctor scowled again. “Oh I’m sorry I forgot she’s the one making your trousers tight.” He added sarcastically squeezing Héctor’s lanky thigh.

             “You callat,-“

             “Oh," He gasped "Are you afraid she’ll hear-Imelda López! Héctor Rivera thinks your-hmm ‘passion is inspiring’!”

             “ ** _Ernesto!”_** Héctor practically coiled his arms around his head like a python in an attempt to silence him. Ernesto snickered spraying him with the tap of liquor as the pair became tangled in a mess and Ernesto attempted to continue shouting until they were finally interrupted by a louder voice.

             “Ay! Stupidios! What are you doing!” Guillermo exclaimed waving a large hand at the pair. Both began babbling at the same time and the man silenced them with a smack to each head. “I don’t have time to look after you two-Juan just threw that violent singing girl on me, and her Papá is the sheriff and the last thing we need is the sheriff up our culos-so-so clean up your mess!” He sputtered, not hearing Imelda approach half through his lecture. The sight of the girl made the large man startle like an elephant to a mouse. “Mierda! First rule-don’t sneak up on people!” Obviously Imelda wasn’t a fan of the language but she held her tongue with a bitter scowl.

             “Si…Sénor Guillermo.” Imelda hesitated looking at the boys as the three all waited to see if one of the others would rat out their earlier behavior. Oddly enough there was a moment of shared communal experience as she stood in the grimy apron and they held the sore spots on their heads. None of them were in an ideal position here, or a glorious one.

             “Ah um-come back here, you can wash the dishes.” Guillermo gave an exasperated grunt and ushered Imelda along rapidly as though she were a dangerous vermin that had crawled into establishment and would frighten off every customer. Héctor and Ernesto watched as she was nearly shoved into the back kitchen door. Alone again, now both stained and stinking of beer, Ernesto held out his hand as their universal sign of apology and truce. Héctor took it with a tight shake and exhausted sigh escaped from both.

             “You’d think he would learn we will not work as well if he rattles our brains…” Héctor muttered reaching into the ice bin for a chunk.

             “If he hasn’t caught on in five years don’t expect any miracles Fideo.” Ernesto did the same placing an ice piece on his own forehead. “This better not show…”

             “Devil horns would suit you.”

             “And a bump on your head would make your ears finally look smaller.” Both remarks were toothless as they sighed waiting for the pain to dull away before cleaning.

             “…She is not making my trousers tighter by the way.” Héctor muttered with a twinge of embarrassment. “It’s just nice to know there are other musicians who actually have real passion and talent other than us in Santa Cecilia. I… _admire_ her.”

             “Oh you sure about that?” Ernesto rose a brow nudging him in the side. Héctor blew out an annoyed sigh which made his bangs ruffle. “Pobrecito innocente. This is why you should have enjoyed yourself in the casa de rojo.”

             “I don’t want to have to pay for _it.”_ Héctor retorted dismissively.

             “Well she is somewhat pretty when she’s not being a puta. The hips-fantastic, the bust not so,-”

             “Stop calling her that-and we were all amigos once don't talk about her like she's a city chica.”

             “Are you sure you she isn’t making them tighter I haven’t seen you this worked up over a chica before,” Ernesto smirked sliding his hand covertly across Héctor’s pelvis.

             “We’re back in Santa Cecilia idiota…someone could see us” Héctor added half heartedly and with a returned coy smirk.

             “No one’s around…” Ernesto said charmingly scooching closer until their shoulders touched as they leaned against the bar counter. The two met eyes with equally cunning and mischievous looks.

             “Do we really want a repeat of the time Guillermo caught my hand in your trousers in the back room?” The question again had an air of a challenge and affection.

             “He still thinks you were fixing my belt.”

             “Uhuh maybe because he’s too embarrassed but he’s not _that_ stupid.” However Héctor trailed off when Ernesto’s hand slid further between his legs and a tiny thrill ran up the back of his spin. Each stared at one another with an unspoken tension and before Ernesto could lean any closer to Héctor’s parted lips a shout forced them to jump apart.

             “Ernesto!” It was Diego, the main cook of the kitchen a short, stout, and very loud man. “You still owe me for that broken glass, you’re on scrubbing duty.” The man seemed slightly more sadistic than Guillermo and took the opportunity to give them the boys the most labor intensive and often repugnant jobs such as throwing out the rotten food and gizzards to the hogs or carrying in the barrels of pickled vegetables. Ernesto sighed and muttered a curse under his breath.

             “Better than cleaning the out houses again…” Héctor supportively added, masking his own disappointment, as Ernesto trudged away. He was given the grueling task of scraping oil and residue off of all the cast iron pots and pans, and even more unsettling sharing the same tub of subbing water as Imelda who appeared to be putting all of her frustration in drying plates so hard it was shocking they didn’t crack. Diego leaned over her shoulder and Imelda looked up like someone had poked a hornet’s nest.

             “What is it?” Came her snapping question which seemed to momentarily startle the cook.

             “Let me show you a better way to do this,” He began attempting to put his arm across Imelda’s, but he had no sooner reclined when her elbow struck into his gut in an exaggerated drying motion making the man turn with a cough. Ernesto had to bite down on his lip in order to avoid a boisterous laugh.

             “My technique is fine-I’ve already dried half.”

             “Christ! Be more careful!” Diego retorted still struggling to get his breath back. “I expect this done in the next ten minutes, mierda,” The man clutched his stomach his attention deterred by the sight of a small fire on the stove. “Ey Roberto I told you to only use a pinch of oil not the whole bottle!...” Alone together, Ernesto eyed Imelda as she resumed her task seemingly so focused his presence didn’t matter much.

             “…Still unafraid to be a rattlesnake it seems.” He began chipping off the caked on black residue from a skillet.

             “What does that mean?” Imelda began ready to shove his pompous face into the water if he began.

             “Don’t play innocent.”

             “Sénor De la Cruz you’re deluded if you believe I would play _anything_. Especially for your benefit.”

             “Tch I was giving you a compliment you could say ‘Gracias’ and move on like a normal girl.”

             “Ay I see, it’s not normal I’m not fawning at your feet and hoping you’ll sing me a song? I have too much dignity for your pasted on charm.”

             “Pasted on?” Ernesto stopped scrubbing momentarily.

             “I know for a fact your family is trying to find you a fiancé, don’t expect me to act like the rest of the village girls.”

             “Ha! Oh see, that is very funny you think I would ever want to be engaged to a woman as ferocious as you.”

             “That’s your own fault if you’re so easily intimidated,” Imelda muttered plunging a plate so roughly into the grimy water it splashed across Ernesto.

             “Watch it,” he snapped. Imelda’s response was a glare and Ernesto sighed heavily. “…You didn’t tell them anything did you?”

             “No, they already don’t want me here I don’t plan to cause more trouble…so I…would appreciate if you did not make this harder for me.” Although she had disguised her plea as a statement, there was still a bitter look on her face that she was reduced to even saying it.

             “And we just want to sing, so we would also appreciate if you didn’t try to run this place as your Papá’s daughter.”

             “Pft, don’t do anything stupid and I won’t have to…” Imelda grumbled, then hesitated on her next inhale. “I’m not just my Papá’s daughter, I’m a woman who wants to work with music, so do us both a favor Sénor De la Cruz and stop looking at me like I’m the sheriff.” She added with a note of bitterness.

             “Ernesto.”

             “What?” Imelda looked up from her plate stopping mid scrub.

             “I’m not my Papá either, so Ernesto. Especially if you don’t want to sound like a sheriff interrogating me.”

             “…Ernesto then.” She relented returning to her task. “You have the permission to call me Imelda if we’re going to be working together like this then.” Ernesto resisted rolling his eyes but could only assume this was as much a gesture of truce someone like her could manage.

And it was thankful they had reached a peace agreement in the beginning of the night for the rest held mountains of dishes, pounds of pickling, and then once both of their fingers were chapped-peeling a stupid amount of corn. The one thing they could respect about each other was the efficiency and speed they accomplished all of these tasks together without a single compliant.

 Especially for her first evening, Ernesto couldn’t help but be the tiniest bit impressed with how well Imelda balanced her work, while fending off the leering stares and or attempts to help, of the kitchen boys. When closing time came around Ernesto was grumbling how sore his own calloused fingers were. He couldn’t help but glance at Imelda and notice the flecks of blood across her delicate fingers which immediately made him bite his tongue. Still she remained as stoic as ever when they were finally permitted to leave the kitchen to help Héctor stack chairs at the bar.

             “Finally!” Exclaimed Héctor at the sight of them as he exhaustedly half hugged Ernesto, draping his arms across his shoulders. “Ugnnn if I had to hear one more drunk cabrón call me elefante I was going to spit in someone’s drink! Where were you? I was _so_ bored.”

             “Diego was in a spiteful mood over the glass.”

             “You smell like pickles.”

             “I know-ugn tell me you have a drink for us.” Then both paused looking in Imelda’s direction as she fumbled with the straps of her apron trying to avoid the cuts on her fingers. It occurred to her they were staring and she looked up, seeming just as, if not more exhausted as the two of them combined. Then it dawned on her _why_ they were staring and she rolled her eyes.

             “I believe working here earns us a liberty to certain commodities.” The look of surprise on their faces made her scoff again, and then wince as she opened the cut on her finger from fiddling with the leather strap. “I’m not my Papá stop looking at me like that!” And at her demand they looked away obediently.

             “There’s some beer in the back room, it’s a Monday though so it’s kind of sour,” Héctor finally replied to Ernesto, perking him instantly.

             “At this point I don’t care if it’s brewed in boot.” He slipped off Héctor’s apron and then his own as he rushed to the back room. Alone in the bar Héctor looked over to Imelda who was sucking on her finger while searching the bar.

             “…Can I help you find something?” He asked cautiously. The way she looked at him he was sure he already knew the answer.

             “I-…” She bit her tongue, then relented. “Yes if there is anything I can put on my finger…” And Héctor immediately looked so delighted Imelda half regretted asking. Jumping over the counter with ease he grabbed a stack of towels and immediately began ripping off a strip of fabric.

             “I just cleaned these too but we should still sterilize your fingers…this place can be kind of gross.” Héctor hesitated, his hands hovering above her own awaiting her permission. It pleased her his patience, and made offering her bloodied fingers less of an uncomfortable act. From beneath the bar he had grabbed one of the high proof bottles that was used usually only for the hardened customers in need of a harsh kick in the throat. “This is going to sting-but I promise it’s important.”

             “I know…” Imelda rose a brow at his apparent knowledge despite how careless he usually seemed.

             “My Máma made sure I knew these things before I went on the road, she said she didn’t want us getting hurt and the not having any idea how to care for it.” The image came to Imelda’s mind of the busy little woman taking the time despite her business to give Héctor a lesson.

“Your Máma is a very nice woman.” Héctor’s face lit up, and his bushy brows came together.

“She really is, She was asking about you-you know, she said you’ve become such a fine lady.” And the words brought a flutter to her chest.

“Would she mind if I paid her a visit again?” Imelda felt so moved by the woman’s acceptance-it was so unlike the scrutiny of her own Máma. Suddenly Héctor bit his lip-for a moment she wondered if she had upset him or overstepped boundaries but when he spoke his voice nearly quivered.

“You have no idea how much that would please her.” 

“She certainly doesn’t deserve all the nonsense people remark-it would be _my_ pleasure.” The words came out with a surge of protectiveness, a kindship with another woman who was simply managing her best despite everyone’s expectations of the _proper_ way to do it. So what if she never remarried? It’s a woman’s choice to remain a widow if she so pleased.

 Imelda did a double take, it looked like Héctor’s eyes were glistening. With a finger he dabbed the cloth in the alcohol then suddenly snapped his fingers making her jump in the otherwise silent bar.

             “What was-ow-“She winced quickly as the stinging liquid patted across each of her cuts but forced herself to not pull away. Héctor offered her a cunning look.

             “You’re better at that than Ernesto, I had to distract him or he kept ripping his hand away from me.” Imelda let out a soft tsk.

“Women are usually more accustomed to handling pain than men…”

“Or stronger. I mean I wasn’t much better when Ernesto had to return the favor…” Héctor chuckled and his nimble fingers began the process of tying a wrap over each bleeding finger, and each time he asked her about the tightness. The man displayed a shocking amount of tenderness Imelda hadn’t expected from his lackadaisical candor. It occurred to her this was the most physical contact she had allowed anyone outside her family in months and yet he was chattering on about some story where they all received splinters from a rickety wagon ride, seemingly so innocent in his intentions.

“I did _not scream_ stop telling that story!” Ernesto’s return lurched her from contemplation. He swaggered over to the counter slamming down the jug of beer. Héctor finished his task and spun to face his friend.

“Why are you so embarrassed my Ernestito had a little injury!” Héctor laughed and leaned across the counter trying to pinch his cheeks, denied with a swat.

“Oh are we telling stories then? How about when we went swimming outside Veracruz and I had to pull a leech off-,”

“Ey! You brought the beer!” Hèctor interrupted pulling out a few clean glasses then muttered what appeared to be a threat as Ernesto snickered. Imelda suddenly recognized all of their behavior was concern over her presence. She hadn’t considered they would notice her presence when in their own world. It was even more shocking when Hèctor handed her a glass. Even Ernesto did not protest.

“You want me to join you?” Imelda managed.

“Didn’t you say we were entitled to liberties? Your Pápa is not here.” Ernesto added giving her a coy raise of his eyebrows. Imelda did appear even the slightest bit charmed, her sharp eyes still analytically half-lidded as they glanced over to Hèctor. Unlike Ernesto he appeared to be slightly intimidated by her presence and nervously smiling as she took a tentative hold of the glass. “And we survived Diego, salud!”

“And you don’t smell like outhouses this time salud!” Héctor added clinking his tumbler glass to Ernesto’s. Imelda rolled her eyes and relented taking a swig of the beer. The trio almost spit it out instantly, Ernesto covering his mouth.

“That hardly tastes brewed!”

“I told you it wasn’t the best,” Héctor resisted a face and took another swig. Imelda stared at the pair dismissively and sensed her opportunity to equalize herself to their little boy’s club. If she was going to survive she would have to establish there were no limitations with her gender. With a deep inhale she titled the glass and in a long chug finished the pitiful excuse for beer earning utterly awed expressions from the two.

            “Hardly an issue.” Imelda declared slamming the glass back on the counter.

            “Where did you learn _that?”_ Ernesto managed as Héctor took another tentative swig only to spit it back into the tumbler. 

            “I’m not blind, I see the drinking contests going on around here,” Imelda scoffed her voice already a little more slippery over words, and gestures more free from her usual stuffy appearance. Grabbing the jug absent mindedly she refilled her glass spilling half of it on the counter.

            “I mean downing spirits.”

            “I have different skills.” Imelda took another swig and exhaled the foul taste. Good she had the courage now to lay down the law. “Now muchachos, I expect you both to keep quiet about my work here, or I’ll be sure to inform Juan about all of this behavior.” Imelda somehow pointedly directed a finger in each of their directions as both looked on as though she had pulled a pistol. “Are we clear?” She asked unapologetically looking each in the eye.

            “Si-si.” Ernesto said quickly a bit worried she would smash him with the jug if he tried to argue again the way she was waving it Héctor eyed her a moment longer and gave a soft nod.

            “I have worked far too hard for you _culos_ to ruin this for me.” Her voice was picking up a slight slur but the tenacity and ferocity remained. Neither dared to interrupt, but Héctor slowly slid the jug off the counter putting it beneath the bar stool.

            “Well then you don’t make things difficult for us, and we won’t tell your Pápa how you became drunk off stolen beer.” And suddenly Ernesto’s smugness was rocked to its very core, for Imelda reached across the counter and took hold of his shirt collar taking him so off guard he was forced to lean across it as she waved pointed finger in his face.

            “As if my Pápa would believe the words of a scoundrel like you Ernesto! I could go to every girl in this town and see _no one_ will ever believe your mierda con boca again!” the words hissed out with such a conviction Ernesto could not even find the momentum in his own brain to respond. “And I am _not_ **drunk** I’m making A POINT!” She pressed her finger into his nose flattening it against his face and he could only look on in relief it was not going after his eyes. “So find a gentlemanly bone in your body _and act with some manners toward a lady_!” The demand echoed in the empty bar, and Ernesto held up his hands defensively.

            “Of course Imelda…” He said appealingly as he would any drunk patron with a pistol he and Héctor had pushed too far on the road. “We have a deal-no one will make this harder for anyone…” The tone oozing out in a smoothing patchwork of a brick layer. Nodding affirmatively, Imelda released him stumbling backwards to steady her weight upon the back counter.

            “Exactly. Now niños I am going home.” And with a flourish she attempted to throw her apron off, then tried again, and finally on the third try succeeded marching toward the entrance they had to lock up.

            “Oh mierda,” Héctor gasped turning to follow her, until Ernesto’s hand came upon his shoulder.

            “Do you want another bruise on your jaw?”

            “She can’t walk home like that! And what if her Pápa sees?” Ernesto gave him a glare but Héctor nudged him, “Think how your Pápa would act.” Frustration ran on Ernesto’s face, then exasperation as he grabbed the keys to the front door and they both jogged after Imelda.

 

            “Im-Imelda!” After their first encounter, Héctor knew better than to approach her in the dark without warning. He and Ernesto had jogged along the cobblestone street until they were about five feet behind her. Imelda had managed quite well, but a lingering, increasing, wobble in each step was what had the boys concerned. It didn’t appear she had much indication how intoxicated she was becoming from the scowl she gave the pair looking over her shoulder.

            “I’m not interested in anymore conversation with you cabrons.” She snapped, leaning on one hip in a crooked stance. “Now go home both of you, your Mámas are probably waiting,” The way she barked orders she may as well have been their Madre-the disappointed look on their face filling them with guilt they couldn’t even place.

            “Er…we just want to be…gentlemen and see you get home safe.” Came a timid response from Héctor who attempted a charming smile, which came out more of an awkward cringing glint of the gold and slanted teeth.

            “I am per-perfectly capable of getting home. I can easily get home, it’s there, I-mean, not far, there.” With a dangling hand she attempted to point up the hill. It didn’t even dawn on her how she was slurring now. Ernesto took a careful step forward.

            “Imelda…we are doing a noble thing here. Trying to atone for any wrong doings and seeing you get home-,”

            “Ha! You’re afraid my Pápa will find out.” Ernesto’s face instantly went sour. The glare he gave Héctor said ‘I-told-you-so’.

            “Well we tried let’s go home-,” Ernesto began attempting to spin Héctor by the shoulder.

            “Que?-Ah-Imelda por favor we’re just worried…” He swatted away Ernesto’s hand and took another tentative step closer. “You are lady after all, and it is nearly dos la mañana…”

            “I don’t need any of your worries now go home-,”

            “Ay! Is that Ernesto and Héctor back!” the rowdy male voice caught their attention. Down the dark road across the plaza a group of tipsy looking boys waved. To the group’s concern they began to make their way over.

            “Mierda,” It took all three a moment to realize it was Imelda who had cursed-she covered her mouth with a knuckle as though she had let out a messy sneeze. “I can’t be seen like this,” She managed ducking further into the shadows against the building and contemplating running down the alley.

            “Go with Héctor, pretend to be his lover.” Ernesto said suddenly thinking on his feet. “They won’t bother him or you then.” Instantly Imelda looked offended and Héctor went red behind the ears.

            “You are not sullying my rep-utact-repu-rep-utation-,” Imelda began.

            “I won’t say it’s you-it’s dark, look our amigos will want to hear all about our trip so go on.” Héctor had his mouth open to argue or make a nervous comment but Imelda suddenly closed the distance and grabbed his arm like he were her escort.

            “Vamanos…” Then with a reluctant look towards Ernesto, “And gracias…” Héctor and Ernesto shared a quick glance-both seeming to question exactly what they were doing. Decisively, Ernesto gave him an encouraging nod and with the tug of Imelda’s arm the two were jogging up the road.

            “Ernesto!” A shorter young man with a well groomed moustache reached him first and held out a hand as he and Ernesto embraced. “Ay people were saying you cabrons were back! Where have you been!”

            “Rogelio you’re as inquisitive and drunk as usual,” Ernesto laughed dryly folding his arms.

            “Was that Héctor?”

            “Ay, Ernesto where’s your skinny wife!” Came another raucous laugh as two boys supporting one another with a large jug in hand caught up with Rogelio. Ernesto’s expression tangled between a smirk and scowl, until he managed a response with a low scoff.

            “Busy with his own chica for once.” There was an excited shout than went amongst the trio.

            “INNOCENTE! SOY SORPRENDIDO!” Laughed Rogelio shouting in the direction of Héctor’s disappearing figure in the darkness.

            “AY HÉCTOR DAME EL GATITO!” Screamed Julian, the fairest of the group, who nearly toppled from the weight of his jug as he sauntered forward to also embrace Ernesto. “We thought you were dead.”

            “Shot in the cross-fire of revolution you never write.” Rogelio complained.

            “Bastardo.” Muttered Nester, the quietest, and subsequently most drunk, who took hold of a tree once Julian left his side.

            “Hush up you’ll embarrass him-,” Ernesto added snatching the jug away to have a drink of the strong brew. He nearly spit it back out immediately. The boys’ recipe had not improved in their time apart. “And we’ve been working.”

            “More like stealing Juan’s shit.” Rogelio snickered.

            “If he paid us better we wouldn’t have to.” Ernesto shrugged, and Nester huffed snatching back the jug.

            “You have muscles Ernesto, you could join me brick laying any day-Pàpa would gladly hire you on. But you want to _sing_ and can’t sully your guitar fingers.” The word sing was emphasized with a flowery wave of hands. Ernesto’s moustache twitched as he ran a hand through his hair then forced out a laugh.

            “My amigo, I would never give up the thrill of the road, fighting off banditos and the chicas that being a mariachi brings.” It was almost too easy to distract them, he was so satisfied with himself.

            “Ay there were banditos!?”

            “Never mind that, tell us about the chicas!”

            “Oh my friends Mexico City is a paradise we could only dream of…” Ernesto began.

 

            “Are they looking?” Imelda muttered her breath tight as the comments of the drunk boys died away. Héctor had just convinced her to not turn around and give them a tongue lashing for their vulgarity.

            “Ah…no se-wait-…no, no I think we’re going to be fine…” Very lightly he felt her fingers curl onto his arm as they walked.

            “I’m sure that bastardo is having a good laugh…”

            “Que-Ernesto? No no, he’d much rather talk about himself than you don’t worry, if he wanted to make this embarrassing he would have found a way. You don’t have to worry.” And with a reassuring pat on her hand she loosened her grip.

            “…Gracias for the help I don’t know what was in that beer.” Héctor bit his tongue from reminding her it may have been how quickly and much she drank it as opposed to what was “in” it.

            “Eh es no problema…I think I owed you for the guitars.”

            “Huh?” Imelda blinked trying to make sure she understood him and wasn’t _that_ drunk.

            “Oh maybe you don’t remember-when we were in the children’s choir-I think it was the last time I really spent time alone with you-Padre Edmundo would leave his guitar from rehearsal out-,”

            “And you wanted to learn guitar so you took it and tried to run up to the rafters with it.”

            “Oh you remember!” He snickered to himself, “And I dragged you with me and then poor Sister Emilia found us after climbing all the way up the ladder.”

            “Hard to forget…”

            “I just thought you were so brave so I recruited your help. Nothing scared you. Even when Padre Edmundo was screaming about hell fire and ‘thou shall not steal’.”

            “…If I remember it was my idea to go up to the rafters with it.” Imelda conceded, “So you shouldn’t take full blame…”

            “Ah it was fun, what does it matter?”

            “Fun? My Pàpa nearly locked me away for life.” Imelda huffed swaying a little.

            “Oh…perdoname,”

            “No! Es stupido, I can make my own decisions and am smarter than half-no most, of the men who try to give me orders.” Imelda declared whisking her free arm to the side. Héctor let out a small chuckle, especially as she stumbled leaning upon his arm for support. "...Lo Siento, I don’t usually do this..."

"Que?"

"Drink alcohol..."

"Then why,-"

"I wasn't about to seem weaker or lesser..." Imelda mumbled turning her face into his arm with embarrassment. Héctor himself looking on pitying.

"The last thing I would think of you is weak." Héctor added honestly astonished anyone could think of her in such a way. Imelda seemed more and more like a character out of a song-a woman who possessed the courage to defy the odds-who would jump out of a burning carriage onto a horse all while saving a baby-and the horse at the same time. There was no giggling behind a fan, or speaking in riddles, she said what she meant when she needed and was unconcerned with the world's ugly truths. 

Héctor was ripped from his thoughts to the sounds of her humming, growing louder until she was singing a little tune looking up to the skylight.

"I thought you were a musico-why aren't you singing?" She added with a tug on his arm.

"Sing-with you?"

"Si!"

"What song are you trying to sing?" He laughed.

"Um...Gloria in excelsis Deo..." Héctor resisted a smirk that church hymns were on her mind now of all times. "Gloria in excelsis Deo in terra pax hominibus bonae voluntatis..." The words came out so slurred Héctor barely knew what she meant but it was sweet how she hummed along as they climbed the hill.

“This was the way to your casa isn't it?"

"Si beyond the hill...ov-er..." Imelda trailed off holding her stomach and letting him go.

"Ah-Que Paso-," Héctor attempted to follow until she put an anxious hand up urging him not to follow. She made it only another step before curling over with a violent cough and losing the contents of her stomach. Humiliated, she struggled with a prayer he would take the hint and leave so not having to face him after vomiting across the side of the dirt path.

"Hey, hey,...it's all right-better out than in?" Héctor added taking a cautious step towards her as she carefully kneeled until her stomach acted up again. The look she gave him was hardly amused with the joke.

"This is absolutely the most embarrassing moment of my life..." Imelda managed between pants covering her rosy and sweating face. Carefully, Héctor knelt at her side, and to her surprise he only had a small smile-without any trace of mocking.

"Really _this_? A little vomit outside? You should hear half the shit I've done."  Imelda scoffed quietly hugging her knees waiting on the nausea to pass.

"Let's see, I not only vomited but I did it all over Ernesto when were trying to talk to some girls who liked our performance. Then once we were in some borrowed charro suits and going to perform-and I had the most terrible food poisoning so he had to hold my hair aside so I didn't get any on me. And I'll spare you the details of removing my trousers in precaution. But then there was the time we got on stage-and he just vomited on me. Then there was a morning we woke up and there was just vomit in our bed, neither of us knew where it came from-...and that's just the vomit stories! Anyway, I assure you this is nothing." Héctor added with a soft laugh, and Imelda, to her own surprise managed to return a small smile to him, torn between disgust and amusement.

“That’s disgusting.”

“Makes this situation seem like nothing doesn’t it?” Ah, it did. She blinked a few times recognizing his trick-not even upset just how smug his smile was.

"Please don't tell anyone about this though-even-,"

"Even Ernesto, I swear on my grave."

"Why are you so..."

"Handsome?" That one did manage a small smile from her.

"…No...you just..." She trailed off beginning to cough once more as her stomach revolted.

"Can I hold your hair?"

"Por-fa-" Imelda could barely manage, but Héctor took the hint and carefully scooped her braid from the line of fire so everything landed on the ground and not across her. After ten minutes the sickness had finally passed that with his assistance she could stand once more.

With her throat so sore she barely said a word the rest of the walk. Héctor was polite enough to chatter on about the scenery, saying he hadn't walked in the hill in a long time, commenting on how beautiful Santa Cecilia looked from this height, and even pointing out a few constellations (which she dared not tilt her head to see) he had learned about while traveling.

Upon reaching the gate of her hacienda Imelda cautiously looked around to be sure no one would see or overhear them. She couldn't imagine which would be worse, her brothers or padres catching her in this state.

"Do you have a handkerchief?" Héctor asked suddenly. "I would give you one but I don't, but we should wipe your face off in case anyone is awake..." And in that moment she felt eternally thankful for his assistance that night and it dawned her despite the years since their innocent childhood days-Héctor remained an earnest friend. Imelda pulled hers out and dabbed her face and mouth.

"Do I look decent?"

"Of course-um-your top button is undone-um,"

"Fix it my hands are still useless-...por favor." She added with an exhausted sigh, and it was only because he bit his lip that she noticed his face going red in the darkness as he fixed her blouse. It was obvious his fingers were trying to avoid feeling anything but despite the best efforts they still brushed the outline of her corset. But ever the gentleman he let her go, giving her that comical nervous grin once more. "I would give you a reward kiss...but...I don't think you want that right now...considering..." And again his face seemed to light up that he was doing all he could to contain his emotions.

"W-well you should always be in your right mind-that is I’d want you to-you know remember if we-well if we ever-...ahem...ah...Buenos Noches Imelda." And as she took hold of the gate to carefully creep inside, a small smile despite everything on her face. There was a strange energy he gave off-there wasn't a reason to be afraid this would be the talk of town tomorrow. Part of her regretted (and maybe this was the lingering beer) she couldn't give him a kiss right now.

"Buenos Noches Héctor."


	5. Reminders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the beautiful comments-they make my day and keep me inspired :)
> 
> Just a warning, I know this is an M fic, but this chapter is where some explicit sexual content starts.

“Imelda, are you ill?” Liliana Flores bent over her as they sat on the wooden rosters. Imelda didn’t dare to reveal to her or any of the church choir why she was especially withdrawn this morning’s rehearsal.

“It’s...monthly issues.”

“Oh no,” Liliana sighed taking a seat and putting an arm around her which was not helping Imelda at the moment- but the kindness was appreciated seeing as the majority of the other girls didn’t say much to her. “Well count your blessing, at least you have that to worry about. Did you hear about Blanca?”

“Don’t spread silly rumors. She just has a chill.”

“It’s not a rumor, I visited her yesterday. I am telling you this because we are concerned amigas. She lost her protector and took a roll in the hay anyway. It’s sad, she said he doesn’t even live in Santa Cecilia.”

“Stupida…” Imelda muttered and Liliana lightly smacked her wrist. “It is! You have to be plainly lose in the head to do that.”

“Regina de hielo!” And she nudged Imelda once again.

“I warned her already.”

“She was in love.” Imelda felt like she would get ill once more.

“That doesn’t mean throwing away all your morals does it? I need air.” And seizing Liliana’s hand the pair disappeared in the midst of the rehearsal break, to the more tranquil garden the sisters kept behind the church. Imelda marched in silence as far away from the building as she could get all while thumbing the silver crucifix she always put on for church.

Liliana tolerated this, playing with her own dark brown braid and disobeying rules by plucking some nearby flowers to string in her plaits. In reality it was a litmus test; Imelda said nothing about respecting the nun’s property which truly signaled she was lost in her own mind.

“Well who is the lucky hombre?” Liliana posed casually raising a brow and with a little nudge.

“Que?” Imelda turned suddenly. “Whatever are you going on about?”

“You’re more transparent than you believe mi cariña. And I noticed your lack of appearance at our spot.”

“What in God’s name are you going on about?” Liliana huffed that she would be forced to spell this out.

“Your Pàpa has forced a fiancé on you.”

“No!”

“What do you mean no?! Where have you been then!” Liliana’s expression a haughty look of disapproval she could be wrong.

“Liliana it isn’t any concern. I’ve been helping at home is all.”

“Don’t lie to me!” She huffed tugging on Imelda’s braid.

“We are not children!” Imelda spat ripping her hair away and turning red.

“Then don’t lie like one!”

Imelda stormed away to the massive old oak tree which marked the parameter of the church and took a seat at the base. Her head felt like someone had taken hammer to it and when Liliana approached once more she nearly screamed for her to go away.

“Did something…happen?” Smoothing out her skirts she knelt down beside Imelda. And she felt the urge to slap her pretty face. That was a question for months ago. Liliana was no longer being the self-involved dunce her social standing could make her be (as much as Imelda also admired it made her one of the quickest and independent women she knew). Instead her brows were pressed together, her light brown eyes searching Imelda’s face. “I’ll remind you for the hundredth time I won’t tell anyone-at least not on purpose.”

“You have too lose a tongue.”

“I can stop it for you mi cariña.” And she tenderly put an arm around Imelda’s shoulders planting a kiss on her temple. With a reluctant sigh Imelda reclined against her, she had considered in her plan making Liliana an ally-she would need help to keep so large a secret from Pàpa. And the tender way she rubbed her arm now, she truly needed the comfort.

“…I drank too much last evening.” Liliana smiled with relief it was such a simple issue.

“How did you manage that?”

“I was at the Cantina?”

“Que?” Liliana chuckled as though it were a joke.

“I…employed myself there, with the other bar boys.” Liliana snickered until Imelda’s hard look reassured her she was serious and then her jaw fell open.

“Your Pàpa let you _work_ and _there_ of all places!?”

“He doesn’t know.”

“Imelda!”

“Keep your voice down damn it!”

“I’m…merely surprised-but what if someone sees you-“

“Anyone who would say something only eat in the restaurant, I stay in the bar.”

“This is incredible, if it were any other woman I would think her just shameless-but you-I can only imagine what is going on here.” And her look of shock had turned to excitement.

“I just want to sing that is all.” Imelda muttered exhaling heavily.

“Imelda…I know you tend to defy the odds, but,” she took her hand in her own. “This is so below you, and what if some whispering Abuela sees you? You’ll either never get a husband or your Pàpa will ship you off to Texas with one.”

“You know I wouldn’t mind the former. This is me steering the reigns of my own life. I would expect you of all people to understand the want to be more than your Pàpa’s hija.” Liliana looked troubled then relented to the unwavering conviction and calm on Imelda’s face.

“You are going to be a scandal someday but I do so love your bravery.” Leaning in she placed a soft kiss against her mouth and lingered. The two sighed momentarily, Liliana brushing strands of hair off Imelda’s face. “I expect you to stay safe men are brutes.”

“I’m well aware…”

“Ha and you’ll leave their cajones like broken eggs if they bother you I know.” Imelda tried to return the smile, but could only find a timid nod in herself. “Oh stop pouting I won’t tell anyone I swear on the Virgin Maria,” and gave her another soft kiss.

Imelda responded taking the distraction from her headache with a soft hand in Liliana’s braid. Additionally, it brought up the bizarre drunken words; she’d nearly promised Hèctor Rivera a kiss. The alcohol must have increased whatever affectionate whims her body had, because kissing any hairy, smelling, pompous, and ensnaring hombre turned her stomach. Especially of all, the gangly, now golden toothed, large eared, Héctor. Thankfully now she could let forth that affection with dear, and far prettier Liliana.

Out of sight from the world the girls embraced, caressing arms and covered thighs, lips unobtrusively meeting again and again in soft brushes of pleasure. It was warm and pleasing as a sweet cup of hot chocolate across the tongue. The ring of the church bell reminded them both they were supposed to be in choir.

Reluctantly, Imelda released her, steadying the growing warmth in her head.

“After rehearsal…come home with me?”

“With nothing but joy.”

* * *

 

“Bullshit.” Ernesto leapt out of the stream and reclined on the grass patch basking in the mid morning sun. Sniffing his arm he swore he could still smell the beer.

“Would I lie to you!” Héctor called from the middle of the water dunking his head again.

“You would conveniently leave details out!” Ernesto groaned stretching his arms above his head.

“The point is I walked her home that was all. Nothing scandalous or exciting!” He grabbed a nearby branch swishing the water back and forth then towards Ernesto. “What about you and your fake fiancé then?”

“Ay mi vida, you want to fuck her.”

“Que!”

“You won’t talk about her! You had no problem telling me about that girl you necked with in the City!”

“Her name was Marisol,” Héctor huffed jumping out of the water onto the bank. “And it does not mean I am lusting I just told you nothing happened.” He didn’t even bother reaching for his clothing but instead picked up a little, battered, leather worn notebook with a pencil jutting out between the pages. The morning’s peaceful sounds surrounded the pair; the birds singing, the stream running, the bugs chittering, Ernesto loudly exclaiming and ruining it all.

“You’ve been writing all morning!” He huffed knowing Héctor’s mannerism’s far too well. Whenever he was ‘inspired’ (Héctor code for excited…or hiding something) he would be writing non-stop.

“S-so I had some inspiration, can’t you be happy for me!”

“Inspiration here?” Ernesto casually reached between Héctor’s criss crossed legs giving a little pinching tug at his pubic hair. Héctor winced and slapped his hand away.

“Ay fuck off.”

“You do! Did you _self violate_ to the thought of her?”

“NO!” Héctor flushed, “Aren’t we supposed to be talking about your courtship!”

“Ugn…” the teasing came to an end as Ernesto flopped to his back began to peel apart a long blade of grass.

“Come on” With a small nudge of his heel Héctor tapped on his shoulder. The action only brought another whine. “Would you rather actually go to a military camp? Or get pulled into church vows.” This brought out another whine of protest, but it ended in a sigh as Ernesto glanced his way.

“I don’t want some village girl to fall in love with me then fall to pieces when I leave. That just seems…cruel.” He made a sour face and began to throw pebbles into the stream. “Uh...what about Sofia?”

“Sofia Garcià? As much as I’m sure she’d love that, Ernesto she’s a nun.”

“Still?”

“It’s a lifelong commitment idiota.”

“She’s not that committed. Which does open up possibilities for me if I was a priest…”

“Ugn you’re the reason I can’t attend church without foul thoughts.” Héctor huffed nudging his side with a foot. “What about Blanca-she’s pretty, and just as misbehaved as you are. I’m sure she’d love an excuse to piss off her Pápa being you fake fiancé.”

“True, and her figure isn’t bad to look at a few weeks in a row…” Ernesto began with a laugh as Héctor rolled his eyes.

“Think with your head not your planta por favor.” The quip brought a scowl to Ernesto-which was suddenly replaced with a cunning flash of his eyes.

“Hm maybe I can ask Imelda she seems to hate me enough there is no risk of her falling in love.” Ernesto smirked. Héctor looked away letting out an annoyed huff.

“I know you’re mocking me.” Behind him he could hear the rustling in the grass then the warmth of Ernesto’s chin on his shoulder.

“Mock you Fideo? Mi hermano? Nonsense I am spilling out my heart. And Imelda happens to have a fine figure like I said last evening. Those hips, superb, thick and that culo, oh I bet she is a sight with her clothes off. Makes me miss the days all the chicas and chicos went swimming together, although there was nothing to see back then. And the breasts-,”

“She’s in a corset!” Héctor blurted, visibly flustered and biting his tongue.

“Maybe to your untrained eye that is all you see, but I see at least a handful, a little lacking but we can manage-”

“St-stop talking.” Héctor muttered as Ernesto’s hand crawled over his wet thigh.

“Why? Is it giving you a cock stand? I see it twitching.”

“Maybe it’s just been awhile…”

“Ay, you miss our time in hotels?” Ernesto inquired wrapping his opposite arm around Héctor’s thin waist.

“What the spiders, and cockroaches, and bad food?” Muttering he glanced over his shoulder.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” The hand inched between the triangle his crossed legs made and a soft sigh left Héctor. A victory smirk met Ernesto, and in an almost spiteful manner Héctor wiped it away with a kiss.

The pair nipped at one another, their tongues barely brushing between little competitive bites. Héctor broke off with a heavy breath, struggling with the discipline to speak.

"Si I miss it..." He muttered reluctantly. "It was nice having privacy, and being surrounded by other artists, who aren't so prudish." The last word came with a disapproving wrinkle of his nose. Ernesto nodded and bit his lower lip pulling it forward in a tease.

"We should leave again sooner than planned..." And his hand craftily tightened across Héctor's rising cock.

"We need to earn more money first..." He gasped in a little moan sliding his own hand toward Ernesto's thigh.

"Since when are you the practical one..."

"Whenever you stop being it..." Héctor leaned forward, seizing his friend's face in a kiss as the rushing hormones in each of them cried out in relief. A moment later they were in pants which wasn't coming from the heat of the summer day. Ernesto groaned with satisfaction when Héctor's long and nimble hand closed around his erection.

They began a synchronized rhythm together, each seeing who could make the other lose focus and their bearings first. Kisses were nothing but a chance to gain the advantage, nipping a lip, ear, neck, something to make the other slip up in their hands’ motions. Of course, neither truly wanted the other to stop, but the victory could be so priceless-especially to Ernesto.

That was partially what drove him to be so present in these little duels. Present enough to adjust his grip in the tight and possessive way that could make Héctor close his eyes to the pleasure, and let out an unplanned hiss between his teeth.

“Ern-nesto-keep doing that, mierda.” Hearing his name, from Hèctor was easily the most arousing part of this all. Desperately he struggled for control to continue their game, but the simple week of chastity was enough to leave him in need of a great release which couldn’t be contained at those sounds. Delighted triumph spread on Hèctor’s face as he observed the shudder followed by subsequent groan which left his _dearest_ friend. “Ay, amigo, that’s a clear win for me…don’t stop.” He added to the momentary pause Ernesto’s hand had taken.

“Winning…is about quality not speed.” Ernesto mumbled, earning a low chuckle from Hèctor.

“Ay you change the rules whenever you-“ there was no chance to protest, suddenly he was on his back, hair dripping into the grass, and the weight of his friend over him. “You drinking this early ay?...” However Ernesto didn’t bother to answer. Neither could answer because they were in a messy kiss with skin on skin sticking to each other. The squeeze of his hand and Hèctor found himself moaning sharply, arching into the tight tunnel Ernesto’s palm had created. It was hot, sweating and delightful, plus the friction across his bare chest was enough his own coming erupted with a muffled “ _mierda”_ between his clenched teeth.

The competitive kisses faded out as the pair stared at one another-flushed, relieved, and equally smug.

“You almost moaned loud enough for the town to hear, I would…call that a win.” Ernesto claimed between breaths.

“Ha…it only took you a minute to spend all over my hand, little quick for such a famous lover as Ernesto De La Cruz, do you do that to all the chicas?”

“And how would you know what the chicas like _innocente_? Been reading some peso paperbacks?”

“I just hear them complain about you in the morning.”

“Well I’ll make sure to ask Imelda how underwhelming her evening was if you ever get the cajones to-" the taunt ended in a spitting sound of disgust and Hèctor smeared the remaining lines of semen from his palm to Ernesto’s face. “Hèctor you fucking-!”

“It’s from your own body-no harm there!” Hèctor laughed wiggling free to his feet before Ernesto could return the gesture. Ernesto attempted to grab his ankle as he leapt away with lanky ease.

“You are _disgusting!”_

“Is it? Those _poor_ chicas who get on their knees for you.”

The pair began a slippery game of tag, whisking in and out of each other’s grasp before finally falling back into the stream and practically drowning one another. Finally, Ernesto took a look at his pocket watch and the pair reluctantly dressed. With a few quips and planning for their schemes, the two parted ways until work that evening.

 

* * *

 

“Máma?” Héctor called his hair still wet. Fresh bread was left on the counter top but she was no where to be found. Casually he grabbed one of the smaller misshapen pieces taking a bite as he browsed around the kitchen. Within the stove he saw two lumpy shapes of dough deflating. The fire was nearly out beneath, which was odd since his Máma was a dedicated, skillful, cook and not one to make such careless errors. “The fire is almost out!” No response.

Alarm finally rose up in Héctor’s mind as he put the bread aside and did a light jog across the Hacienda to her bedroom. The door was already open but the bed was empty. A bed much too large for one person. The same sparse décor on the walls of a large wooden crucifix, and some turquoise beads across her dresser.

“Máma!” Héctor anxiously called. “Máma! Are you here!” His face fell, as he jogged to the courtyard between their home’s walls where the well was. And like usual, a mixture of relief and dread filled his stomach as he saw her, methodically lowering the bucket into the water, then back up, repetitively as if not aware she had succeeded the first time. Taking a deep breath and putting on a neutral smile Héctor carefully approached her, hearing her humming the same tune softly.

“Hola Máma…”

“Hola Hèctor, how were your lessons?” A knot curled in his chest. A piece of him wanted to shout-another wanted to run, but like always, he remained.

“Bien…” he muttered reluctantly.

“Can you play any songs yet?”

“Si…can I help with the bucket? Why don’t we go inside?”

“No, I only need a little, I am washing your Pàpa’s shirt, he spilled-“

“Coffee?” And he crept closer to her, trying to take hold of the rope.

“Coffee on it…” She paused Hèctor put his hand over her own and carefully stopped the rope. Suddenly Alma let it go, and it fell with a violent splash. In an instant she brought her hands to her face, a silent sob shaking her body. Hèctor hesitated, then cautiously put a hand on her shoulder. This time she was grateful and embraced her son tightly as though he would crumble into the wind if she slackened to any degree. And soothingly, Hèctor did not move until she finally released him.

 _“_ Ay mi Dios, I am going to burn the bread,” and Alma walked away swiftly wiping her red and wet face with her apron. Hèctor followed containing his frustration.

“Máma, you said it stopped happening.”

“Mijo why didn’t you tell me the fire was nearly out.”

“Màma, the well-,”

“Hèctor I have several orders for this afternoon now is not the time!” Alma turned back, her face rarely stern. And in this rare occasion her son returned it.

“Màma, Pàpa would have been distraught if he knew this is how you mourn.”

 _“_ We are not speaking about Andres right now. And he will be displeased you are being so disrespectful-“

“Will be!? Máma he is dead!” Before he could stop the words Hèctor had felt them jump out like a violent sickness which had to escape less it consume him. Alma stilled again, she gripped the counter before sinking to her knees a hand on her face. Immediately Hèctor regretted his words and rushed to her side helping her stand.

“Máma…you should rest, the physician said this isn’t good…”

“The heat must be getting to me.” Was her simple response and Hèctor reluctantly bit his tongue. Without a word he walked her to her own room then softly shut the door. His frustration had reached a peak, this was supposed to have been a thing of the past-such was why he left in the first place. She had convinced him she was no longer struggling. But what could he say? Words felt like a violent wind to carefully placed eggs on a ledge. Silently he took to the remaining dough on the counter and slammed his frustration into it with each knead. Nothing could be done he knew. All he could do is finish the day’s work from the remaining mess.

 

* * *

 

“Let me help you mija.” Gloriana’s voice was not a request. Imelda had just finished with a bath after Liliana’s departure, and sat upon the wooden stool in her small bedroom brushing out her long hair as she sat in her shift.

“Oh, gracias…” Imelda attempted a note of gratitude, but it wasn’t the easiest performance because she had been very capable of brushing her own hair since she was eight years old. Close by she could smell her Máma’s elegant perfume, and withheld a wince from how roughly her hair was yanked by the brush when Gloriana’s fairer hands took over.

“How was choir?”

“Blanca was missing…but otherwise it was enjoyable.”

“Ah, Señorita Alvarez si…such a shame, I was speaking to her Máma who said she had begun lying about her whereabouts before becoming _ill._ ” Imelda felt her distinctly pull a knot on her hair, and with methodical composure she grit her teeth from reacting.

“That’s shameful.” Imelda muttered.

“It is. I’m pleased you are not one who would behave like in such a disgraceful way.” Imelda didn’t say a word, her eyes glinted to the crucifix on her desk, a present from her Mamá at her Quinceañera which in the years since served as reminder of her manners and Mamá more than of Jesus.

“I’m not so foolish.” Imelda said plainly.

“I know mija, such is why your Pápa permitted you to sing at the Cantina…and now what is it you are spending your evenings doing?”

“Assisting with charitable contributions at the church Máma…we’ve been knitting blankets for those in need this past week…I thought you would be pleased, I’m working closer with our faith.”

“Of course I am, but you can not win God’s salvation in favors…it requires a virtuous existence throughout your entire life.” Lifting Imelda’s hair she began to run the brush through the silky black strands. Imelda watched her expression from her hand mirror which she had set down once coming in. She couldn’t help but contemplate if there was a hidden disappointment that her own hair was so different from her mother’s dark brown wavy tresses. “And what about your hands…”

“I pricked myself with the needle, I tried to do it too quickly.” Gloriana’s response was a simple hum.

“You are out of the house alone so often these days.”

“I’m not anymore than most mujers-,”

“Imelda you have to be better stock than most niñas…I expect you to remember that.” With the brush she tugged at another knot in the damp hair, and Imelda grit her teeth.

“I-do.”

“I dearly hope your actions reflect that Imelda.”

“When do they not?” She bit back, more sharply than intended. When Gloriana paused, she knew that had been a mistake. Silence passed in an uncomfortable moment as Imelda hesitated, waiting for her to return to brushing or at least say anything to break the growing tension. She braced herself for a slap, but it didn’t come.

“Your brothers have become so independent, I believe it is time we revisit finding you a husband, especially in these dangerous times.”

“I have no desire to marry at this time.” Imelda said without hesitation.

“You aren’t wise enough to know what you say,” The cold edge in her tone was enough that Imelda knew she tread dangerous limits. “Your tone will change if you were a miserable lonely old maid.”

“I’m capable-,”

“It has little to do with what you are capable of, and instead what the town will do to you, what the church will do.” There seemed to be a trace of bitterness beneath her chastisement. Imelda huffed turning around in her seat to face Gloriana.

“I can hand-,”

“Gloriana!” Her Pápa’s voice most likely saved her from what would have lead to a firmer punishment. Curiously, her Mamá’s face was far more contemplative than angry.

“Coming Pédro…” she called, then looked back at Imelda. “Do not forget this conversation.” It was enough warning to make Imelda’s stomach curl as she took the brush back, trying to finish brushing her hair more gently.

 

* * *

 

“Dios de Madre, it’s a _baile_ , Ernesto not an engagement.” Héctor huffed clearly in a pouty mood still as he lazily peeled limes for the evening’s drinks.

“Ay this isn’t the city, I dance with her and the whole village will be clutching their rosaries praying for our children.” Ernesto grumbled while absenting drying a few tumbler glasses,

“Ay mi vida you’re dramatic, not everyone in the village is obsessed with you despite how nice your eyebrows are.”

“Why are you so grouchy?  Ernesto tsked nudging his bony side. When Hèctor didn’t immediately respond with a quip back he rose a brow nudging him once more.

“…I found Màma by the well again.”

“Que? But-“

“Well clearly she lied.” Hèctor spat. Silence passed except for the dull scraping of the knife on the lime skin. Silently Ernesto patted his knee.

“Amigo, it could just be one day. I’m coming home with you tonight. Just don’t make me bake anything.”

“Why would I do that? I remember nearly dying from your attempts at food at that outpost by Veracruz.” A small smile was managed on Hèctor now and Ernesto tsked rolling his eyes.

“You want good cooking finding a little wife, until then enjoy a diet of tequila and coffee.”

“That mud is barely coffee.”

“I’ll have you know I’ve improv-…ed.” They trailed off seeing Imelda enter from the back door. Unlike last evening she now clean, hands properly bandaged, and very sharp and sober. The trio met eyes and there was an awkward silence as she approached the bar. Imelda inhaled, her hair was tied up today in a bun making her look more matronly than her age. Ernesto spoke finally losing his patience at her inability to look Hèctor in the eye and his sudden muteness.

“How are you fairing?”

“…Better…did you tell any-“

“Imelda I am not the scoundrel you think me. I am only trying to get by just like you.” They both looked at one another, a grudging common ground accepted. She gave a small nod to him and sighed.

“Well, thank you.”

“De nada.”

“Isn’t this nice?” Hèctor chimed in resisting a laugh at the tension. Both gave him a look.

“No jokes my head is still rattling.” Imelda sighed folding her arms. Héctor couldn’t help but feel a fluttering in chest rise up. Did she remember her claim to kiss him? Not that he would hold her to it, but he couldn’t help but feel a little guilty how sheepish she looked right now.

“Hair of the dog.” Ernesto added waving an empty shot glass.

“That doesn’t fix anything.” She tsked. “But if you boys have water back there I’ll take that.” As she passed Hèctor walking around the bar she paused. “Thank you…again.” She didn’t bother looking at him knowing he would probably give her a much too kind smile despite the fact she had nearly vomited on his shoes.

“Happens to the best of us.” He added, and his sudden energy at Imelda’s presence forced Ernesto to hold in a laugh.

“Are you referring to yourself, when you got so drunk you-“ before Ernesto could embarrass him further the group stilled to the sound of a bang outside. They all knew the sound, none said a word, but instead reacted properly ducking down to the floor behind the bar counter holding their breaths in a known protocol. Time became strange, like a pliable clay which was either stretching the seconds to minutes, or condensing each agonized second to a minute. Guillermo’s heavy footsteps were heard as he rushed behind the bar with more urgency than any had ever seen him show.

Upon his arrival they began to rise until a violent wave of his hand froze them. He urgently pointed down; mouthed something to Ernesto then began hurriedly putting glasses on the counter. The trio were pressed together in the small space between valves for the drinks, Hèctor in the middle. Each had their knees to their chest like make-shift shields, the boys both ducking their heads because they were too tall to fit.

Boots thudded the ground which thundered in their ears through the wood they sat on. Multiple boots, hard heels made for marching and prestige. Then a voice, Juan, chatting away at a mile a minute which only made their own stomachs twist at the contrast of it to his usual relaxed, impatient, smug tone.

“…yes we have the finest drinks you could want, freshly prepared, we may be simple but in Santa Cecilia we do things with pride, I’m sure El Presidente himself would feel at home-“

“I’m not looking to intoxicate my men.” Came a sharp unknown voice. “They are here to do their duty is all.”

“Well there isn’t much talk of politics here.”

“We still intend to check…I trust you take no issue with complying?”

“Of course not! I just hope you can be patient with my patrons…and when the Sheriff arrives I am sure he’ll be more than pleased to discuss traitors and criminals, he sees far more than I do.” Despite the distant conversation the trio could understand the majority. At the mention of Sheriff Lòpez the boys glanced in Imelda’s direction who hardened her gaze to the wooden floor beneath them.

Then the group went ridged as multiple hard boots rumbled in closer. Furniture was banging suddenly and roughly, tables screeched as they slid across the floor. The resounding vibrations almost felt a small earthquake to them. Hèctor bit his lip, his fingers interlaced around his knees. Ernesto put a hand over his own mouth, his eyes hard and curious, flicking up to the wood above them at each violent sound. Imelda had not moved from her gaze to the ground, but she listened attentively to every noise, waiting…waiting…until in the blurry passage of time a voice joined the conversation, authoritative, calm and painfully familiar.

“Buenos Dias gentlemen, Captain.”

“Sheriff López I presume?”

“Si, I am surprised you did not come to the jail house.”

“No disrespect Sheriff, but we do not know where your, or this village’s loyalty lie.”

“It lies only in continuing life as serenely as possible.”

“A man who has no loyalties is doomed to fall.” The Captain responded coldly. Imelda tensed, her fingers curling into fists and eyes clenching shut. Héctor’s eyes dared to drift in her direction. Carefully, he reached his hand toward her fist-she flinched at the touch, then glanced in his direction for a mere second. The softness of his gaze, the tension, she lowered her hand and allowed him to put his own atop her fist. Surprise managed to her head despite the anxiety, he was thinking of her feelings despite how afraid they all were.

“I couldn’t agree more, that is where most of my criminals come from.” Sheriff López’s calm voice surprised all them. “I can’t say whether we have any rebel traitors in our lockhouse but I’m sure you’ll know better than I.” The scraping and banging were coming to a dull conclusion, the sounds lessening and spacing apart. More muffled conversation, thud, thud, thud, boots across the floor. Juan’s anxious voice, a low clap as the door came to a close.  When silence took over, and Guillermo’s knees relaxed, none of them moved from their hiding spot. It wasn’t until Guillermo knocked his knuckles on the counter and waved them out of their trances the trio reanimated, crawling out from their spaces. Héctor was the first to find his voice.

“What happened?”

“Army Captain, looking for rebels.” Around them the Cantina was in shambles, tables moved, chairs tipped-the floorboards banged for secret hiding places, and the stage curtain ripped open.

“What a mess…”Ernesto muttered and huffed quietly.

“Well it won’t clean itself.” Imelda spoke up surprising them all as she went ahead starting to set a few chairs upright. The boys watched her for a moment, none saying a word as she tirelessly yanked the heavy furniture trying to put it back in place.

“…Ay that is quite the chica.” Ernesto finally admitted. And staring with awed eyes at her courage, Héctor nodded slowly.

“Si…I miss the city.” Héctor said softly.

“...It stays this bad we'll run off together.” Ernesto added nudging his side as they walked across the floor to reset the disheveled cantina.


End file.
